“No.” I stared into his eyes, letting him find the truth in mine.

“He bedded another.”

“Bedded and loved.” I wanted to share this. Perhaps not with Ashley, but it felt freeing to voice it to an impartial ear. “He still loves her, but she won’t have him. He’s alone, and I should be happy about that. I am happy about that.”

Not really. I was lying through my teeth.

“He didn’t maliciously try to hurt you by seeking the arms of another,” Ashley said.

“No.” My eyebrows crawled together. “I don’t see why that matters.”

“Love isn’t a decision. It arrives unannounced, breeds madness, and leaves a sea of ruin in its wake. Hate him or love him. Either way, he’s in certain hell.”

My jaw unhinged under the weight of piling questions, but my voice deserted me. As I stared at his detached expression, I couldn’t separate the truth from the rhetoric. Was he feeding me what he wanted me to hear? Or was he speaking from experience?

“Close your mouth.” He reclined in the chair, regarding me.

“You speak of love from experience?”

“There’s a woman,” he said slowly. “A lady to whom I’m betrothed.”

“Do you love her?” My knees teetered, struggling to hold me up.

“I am here.” He spread his arms wide, indicating the ship and the sea. “And she is not.”

What did that mean? Did he want her here? Who was she? To be betrothed to a high-ranking officer and son of a viscount, she would have her own titles, family wealth, and obligations.

She would be someone important.

“Does she love you?” I shook my head, changing the direction of my thoughts. “Of course, that has no consequence. She wants to marry you?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about her.”

“She’s well-bred, titled, educated, modest, kind, beautiful, virtuous—everything a nobleman could want from his betrothed.”

There was positively no want in his voice or expression. But this was Ashley—buttoned, polished, and starched. Even so, why didn’t he race home after the war to see her? She must miss him horribly.

He was an extraordinary catch. Gorgeous. Wealthy. Powerful. As a titled lord, he was required to behave like a gentleman in her presence, meanwhile keeping her in the dark about his unchristian proclivities. Such as restraining, spanking, and sharing a bed with his half-naked female prisoner.

As Lady Ashley Cutler, she would turn the other cheek and focus all her energy on high society. In exchange for his status and affluence, she would only need to open her legs once or twice a year to give him his requisite heirs.

And such was the life of the good and the great.

Yawn.

“Your families want the arrangement,” I said. “And you want your career.”

“That’s the essence of it.” He rose to his feet and gripped my waist, lifting me to stand.