“It is clear what must be done,” Constantine repeated with a touch of insistence. “What we must do.”

She reached for the counterpane and pulled it over herself. Serious conversations probably functioned better if one wasn’t naked.

He frowned as she covered up her nudity, as though he preferred she remained naked.

Perhaps he did not agree with her logic, but she felt more composed at least.

“I’m afraid I fail to understand you.” She shook her head in confusion. “What is clear?”

“After what just happened? Is it not obvious to you?”

Several things were obvious to her as she clutched the counterpane to her bare breasts. The primary item being that she was entirely too enamored of Constantine, which was insupportable.

She had thought she could do this. She had thought a physical liaison, a tryst, was possible without engaging one’s heart. She thought she was a sensible female who could balance such a thing.

And perhaps it was possible.

Only not for her.

Apparently, Nora was not capable of an affair. Or at least she was not capable of a meaningless affair with Constantine. Apparently, she was equipped only for something meaningful with him and that, unfortunately, wasn’t to be.

She tightened her grip on the counterpane and sat up, glancing from him to the door.

When was he leaving? Would he not take himself from her bed now? Her bedchamber? Is that not how these things, these trysts, were done?

He continued, “After this”—he motioned between them—“we haven’t any other choice.”

They would speak candidly of this then? She had not been convinced they would.

Constantine was not a man of excessive words. Nor was he the manner of man to proclaim his feelings or easily own his emotions. She wasn’t sure he possessed any softer sentiments at all.

Just an inflated sense of honor and duty.

She was duty to him. Nothing more. And that truth stung. Again, proof that she should leave this house as quickly as possible and take herself home where she knew every bump and ridge in the terrain, where nothing could surprise . . . or hurt her.

At any rate, what could he say?

However shattering, this had simply been a physical act. It was no more complicated than that. At least it would not become complicated. She refused to allow it to become a difficult thing. Especially considering she would be leaving.

He stared at her steadily, his impatience palpable, crackling on the air between them.

“I must confess, what you speak of is not obvious to me.”

A flash of exasperation crossed his face. “Come now. You’re clever. I don’t see how you haven’t reached the same conclusion I have.”

“I’m sorry. I must be obtuse,” she snapped, glancing at her bedchamber door again, wishing he would simply leave.

He motioned between them again. “We cannot pretend nothing happened between us.”