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“And when is that?”

Cora gave me a coy look. “When you’re too busy to think, of course.”

“Busy doing what exactly?”

She hesitated—just for a second—then shrugged, like it was obvious. “Anything that keeps your mind occupied.”

“Such as?” I prodded.

Her cheeks flushed, and I wondered if it was from more than the wine. “Well… I’ve found lying on my back works quite well.”

For a moment, I stared at her.

She blinked. “What?”

A sound dangerously close to a laugh slipped out of me. “Do you mean…?”

“Sex. Fucking. Whatever you want to call it. It works much better than just staring at the stars. Don’t you think?”

A stuttering, embarrassed laugh escaped me. “Well, one would first need to be having sex to experience the benefits of it.” I covered my face with a hand. “That was ungentlemanly. Forget I said anything.”

“Drop the gentleman act. Are you telling me you aren’t having sex?”

I shook my head, holding my hand out for her wine glass, and she shoved it into my hand. I swirled the contents, my thoughts feeling just like the liquid inside the cup.

Yes, I knew the pull of a mate bond. My wife had consumed me. In every life she’d lived. But for whatever reason, when I looked at Cora, I found that I was being pulled to her. There was an inevitability between us that I didn’t understand.

“I haven’t been with anyone since Adrien’s mother,” I admitted.

Her mouth dropped. “Eight years? You haven’t been with anyone in eight years?”

I nodded. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, eight years feels like eight minutes.”

“But it’s not eight minutes.”

“True,” I said. “Very true.”

“Is that required? For you to wait? Forgive me, I don’t know the rules.”

I shook my head. “No, it’s not required. It’s just something I do. Or that I’ve been doing this time. Because of Adrien.”

She hummed in the back of her throat and said, “That explains a lot.”

“What do you mean?” I inquired.

“Nothing. Forget I said anything, Your Grace.”

She reached for my title just to throw it in my face. She’d done it in the garden. She’d done it on the quay, with my own jacket still on her shoulders. And I was beginning to find it about as charming as a door shut in my face.

“Don’t Your Grace me. I want to know what you mean.”

“It’s just—well, you’re a little uptight.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

I stared at her in stunned disbelief. Many words had been said about me, but uptight was never one of them. I was a sailor at heart. My greatest love was the ocean.