Page 62 of The Unlikely Pair

“We’re still not continuing on,” he says.

It takes me a moment to realign my brain and realize he’s revisiting the argument we were having before we started kissing.

It has been wiped clean from my brain.

“Was that merely a persuasive technique of yours to get your own way?” I ask.

“I think you’ll find you were the one who started that,” he says as he bends to wipe his hand on a tuft of grass. “And now we’re going to have to light another fire.”

My forehead creases. “Why do we need to light another fire?”

“Because we’re going to need to wash our trousers,” he says.

I grasp his meaning and feel my cheeks start to heat.

He’s right. Neither of us is wearing underwear, which means the insides of our trousers have been soiled by the results of our encounter.

I’m fairly certain the care instructions inside my woolen Savile Row trousers don’t suggest washing them in a river and then drying them by the heat of a fire for the second day in a row.

“All right then, let’s gather some material to start another fire.”

I’m relieved to be able to focus on practicalities at this moment.

But as we gather firewood, I notice something about Toby is slightly…off. His movements seem stiff and distracted as he snaps twigs with more force than necessary.

I don’t know what I expected after that encounter. It’s not as if I thought we were going to engage in postcoital cuddling or anything of that ilk.

However, I would have expected Toby to respond in his usual mocking or joking way, not grow quieter and quieter.

And as much as I want to ignore the awkwardness, I feel duty-bound by my conscience to address it.

I kneel to clear a spot for the fire. “I apologize if you’re uncomfortable about what just transpired,” I say stiffly.

Toby’s eyes fly to mine. “I’m not uncomfortable with getting off with you, Harry. But obviously, there is one aspect I’m not happy about.”

I’m truly perplexed. “What aspect?”

“You’re married, Harry,” he says in a low voice. “You just cheated on your wife. And I know you might want to apply the ‘What happens in the Scandinavian wilderness, stays in the Scandinavian wilderness’ principle, but I’m not comfortable messing around with someone who’s married. I got caught up in the moment earlier, but now that I’m thinking about it, I feel complete rubbish.” Toby’s jaw clenches as he snaps a twig in half and adds it to the kindling pile.

Oh, so that is what is bothering him.

I feel a pulse of relief.

My throat works as I try to figure out what to say.

“It’s not like that,” I say finally.

“What? It’s not like what?” Toby concentrates on stacking a pile of twigs.

“Prunella and my marriage. It’s…ah…a marriage of convenience. A lavender marriage.”

Toby jerks his head up to stare at me. “A lavender marriage?”

“Yes. Prunella’s asexual and aromantic but was facing pressure from her family to marry. I needed a wife when I entered politics. We were already friends.” I shrug. “It works.”

I strike the ferro rod, sending sparks flying, but the paracord refuses to catch.

From the surprise on Toby’s face, he wasn’t expecting that explanation.