“Not for me. Because,” Tarleton repeated in unnecessarily strident tones, “I don’t fall in love with women.” “You can’t know—” “I fall in love with gentlemen.” Valentine nearly swallowed his peach stone. “Well, I say gentlemen,” Tarleton went on, “but I more mean men in general. I had a rather delightful assignation with a gorgeous young redcoat once. And he wasn’t gentle at all.” Very carefully, Valentine sat up. It felt quite important he be sitting up in that moment. “I . . . what are you telling me?” “I’m answering your question.”
