"I'm no lord," Silver reassures, the kiss warm and pleasant. He finds Benedict's words still somewhat confusing. Is this what it's like, to be truly naive? To believe there is the best of both of their worlds?

... Hadn't Thomas Hamilton, according to Flint? Hadn't he believed there was, and hadn't that been one of his downfalls?

"For a man with civility, you certainly conduct yourself with wild abandon. Perhaps you're going to be the one to kidnap me and sell me for ransom." He's amused, and strangely flattered.

"I'm not pretending to be anyone but myself," he reasons. "And neither are you. Perhaps that's the difference."