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“Another thing I’ve always admired about you.” He breathed out a heavy sigh. “Forgive me, Ina. This has been more difficult than I could’ve predicted. I didn’t think saying a few words in front of a few witnesses would change things so much,” he said.

“There’s a weight to them that I hadn’t expected either,” she admitted.

“When you came to me on our wedding night, I wasn’t prepared.”

She pulled back a little, but he held her hand fast. “And you think I was?”

“No, I meant I wasn’t prepared for how good it would be. The passion there . . . I’ve never felt a force like that before.”

She looked down at their clasped hands. “I was angry when you left, and hurt. I was trying to understand why I would be so repulsive to you—”

“You’ve never repulsed me,” he said fiercely.

“You may not feel that way when I tell you that I read the letters you left behind.”

With his chin down and his eyes hidden under thick lashes, she couldn’t see his expression as the silence between them stretched out to a painful breaking point. She’d made a mistake in reading the letters. She’d made a mistake in telling him. She’d ruined everything again.

“I’m glad you read them,” he said.

“You’re glad?” she asked in surprise.

“They were a part of my past I should’ve told you about. I was eighteen, and I loved a woman when I was still green enough to think she might not care that I was a second son with no desire to make my living in the military or the clergy. In the end, she didn’t want me,” he said.

“Have you ever seen her again?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice neutral. It was cruel, but she couldn’t help being happy at the news that the affair had happened nearly ten years before. Still, she was human, with predilections to jealousy just like any other woman. She needed reassurances that his past was firmly in his past.

“She was a local girl from Ashington who grew up near Oak Park, so it was inevitable that I would see her again when I traveled home,” he said slowly.

“And you spoke?” she asked.

“We did, but I can assure you, I have no affection left for her. She’s happy in her marriage.”

“I’m sorry for asking, Gavin. It’s not that I doubt your word, it’s just . . .”

He shook his head. “I should’ve told you years ago. I pined for her for much longer than any rational man would’ve, but I was ashamed. You shouldn’t have had to find out this way,” he said.

“I was trying to understand what had happened between us. I know we agreed to a marriage without intimacy, but—”

“That clearly didn’t work,” he said with a wry smile.

“No, it didn’t.”

“Perhaps it was wishful thinking,” he said.

“I don’t like not speaking to one another. I’ve spent nearly an entire week feeling as though I’m living with a stranger when that’s not true at all. We’ve been friends for seven years.”

Given the way the last week had been going, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d brushed aside the point. Instead he straightened his shoulders and looked her square in the eye for what felt like the first time in weeks.

“You’re right,” he said.

“What?” Her hand flew to her chest. “Did Gavin Barrett just admit I was right about something without being under duress?”

He grinned. “Remember the day, for it won’t happen again soon.”

“Typical man,” she said, more pleased than she could say that the playfulness had returned to their conversation. It had been conspicuously absent.

“I want to start again,” he said.

“Start what again? Our conversation? Our friendship?”