I’ll be your friend in daylight. I’ll treat you as a comrade in every gas-lit ballroom. But alone, under moonlight, I’ll not pretend that I want you for anything but mine.

I do believe you would have cut the rope.

See?” Jenny said. “That was good. A comforting gesture, and completely unprompted on my part. You’re a
quick study. Even you will have to admit that, despite your appeal to logic, touch works. All the cold in me flows to you.”
“Cold can’t flow,” he said, pulling her closer. “Only heat.
Thermodynamically speaking—”
“Gareth?”
He looked down.
“Don’t ruin this.”
He didn’t.

Jenny’s admonition had the desired effect. Ned drew a deep breath and thrust his arm gingerly into the bag, his mouth puckered in distaste. The expression on his face flickered from queasy horror to confusion. From there, it
flew headlong into outright bafflement. Shaking his head, he pulled his fist from the bag and turned his hand palm up.
For a long moment, the two men stared at the offending lump. It was brightly colored. It was round. It was—
“An orange?” Lord Blakely rubbed his forehead. “Not quite what I expected.” He scribbled another notation.
“We live in enlightened times,” Jenny murmured.

His past followed him around as faithfully as his shadow.

Metaphors are dangerous, Metaphors are not to be trifled with. A single metaphor can give birth to love.