My True Love Gave to Me by Ava March

the excuses for his silence build as day after day the post had arrived without a note bearing Thomas’s neat masculine hand, until time had ripped all those excuses from his grasp and left him with nothing but the truth.
    Floorboards creaked faintly behind him. “I came back for you.”
    Alexander fought the urge to flinch.
    Not fair. Not in the slightest. Thomas had no right to that answer.
    “You have my apologies, for what they are worth, for the way in which we parted,” Thomas said.
    “The way we parted?” Alexander asked, cynicism drenching his voice. He whirled about and found Thomas a step from him. Tall and broad of shoulder, the man’s very presence seemed to take up every available inch of space in the room.
    Thomas tipped his head in acknowledgement to the truth in Alexander’s accusation. “The way I left your father’s hunting lodge.”
    The way you left me!
    Alexander crossed his arms over his chest, as if it could somehow keep the man out. “I heard you went to New York.”
    “Yes. I went to work for my uncle. I managed one of his hotels.”
    “I don’t recall you ever mentioning such a desire.” He hadn’t even known Thomas had an uncle in New York, never mind one who was a hotelier, until the gossip had reached his ears.
    “Because I didn’t. At least not before I booked passage on the ship that took me to America.”
    “And you’re back now.”
    Thomas tipped his head. “Yes. I came back for you.”
    Liar!
    It was all he could do to keep from slinging the word at Thomas. If Thomas truly cared enough to come back for him and only him, he’d have at the very least written him a note at some point during the past four years.
    “I came back to apologize.” Regret heavy in the brown depths of his eyes, he held Alexander’s gaze. “I am sorry.”
    All the apologies in the world could not take back the hurt. The all-encompassing pain that had driven him to his knees and kept him there for endless hours. The memory rushed upon him, swift and violent in its intensity. So fresh, he could feel the warm tears that had covered his palms.
    To think he once believed Thomas cared for him. Loved him even. How foolish he had once been.
    Never again.
    “Apology conveyed. You can leave now,” he said, pointing around Thomas’s shoulder toward the open door. He sidestepped around Thomas and did his best to keep his strides to a walk as he escaped the study and went up to his bedchamber.
    Alexander flung the door shut.
    A sharp slam cracked through the room.
    He grabbed the decanter of whisky and poured another glass, the amber liquid splashing against the crystal tumbler. Damnation, his hands were shaking.
    He brought the glass to his lips and tried not to listen for the sound of the front door closing.
     
    Thomas turned the knob, pushed open the door Sasha had slammed shut and hesitated but a fraction of a second before crossing the threshold of what could only be Sasha’s bedchamber. A gray damask coverlet was folded back exposing the white sheet, as though Sasha had been preparing for bed…thankfully alone. A black coat, the sleeves turned inside out, a light blue waistcoat and a wrinkled white cravat were strewn across the polished floorboards. The drapes on the two windows were closed tight, with only a candle on the bedside table illuminating the room.
    Sasha stood before a mahogany dresser, his white-shirted back once again to him. Black trousers hugged his narrow hips. The nearby candle provided just enough light to give a hint of the body beneath the fine lawn shirt. The sleek, almost frail frame was a thing of the past. In its place were strong shoulders and solid, compact muscles. A visible reminder of the years that had passed.
    The click of glass against wood echoed in the room as Sasha set an empty tumbler on the dresser. He did not make another move or say one word to acknowledge Thomas’s presence. Silence hung thick in the air, a heavy oppressive force. Silence that said quite