Chapter 31: The more I know of the world, the more I am convinced that I shall never see [another] man whom I can really love.
By the insufferable burning in his limbs, it is decidedly true that Edmund Bolton is not, in fact, dead.
Though, at a time like this, he could be forgiven for wishing it upon himself.
“I love you.”
“Show me. Come home to me.”
This exchange, a mere few words, had tormented Edmund for days after they’d spoken. No number of letters and radio conversations and, admittedly, suggestive photographs had been able to stop them ringing out in his mind every second of every day.
In his dreams, he had lived countless ways in which he would rend Aidan’s own affirmation of love from him in ways ranging from innocent declarations to mindless gasps of pleasure.
Suffice it to say, he’d rather been driven round the bend.
So, as much of a shock as it must no doubt have been for his German captors, he had abandoned their hospitality for the loving captivity of a man he would gladly be shackled to for the rest of his life.
Well, the hope of it.