"I didn't assume," Hamilton returns, hotly, though he most certainly did. "You arrived without a mate, you feared touch, and since then you have betrayed no word of what happened. What am I to conclude, from your silence, but that it was no will of yours?" He steps up, crowding Burr's personal space. "Why do you hide what is no cause for shame?"

He can smell the ever-present stress and worry from Burr -- boldly, because there are no clothes in the way, and also because he has become better and better at dissecting the finer points of Burr's scent.

And then it occurs to him that Burr is half-dressed and as beautiful as ever, and that he can't back down physically without backing down in the argument.

"If I am wrong, tell me," he dares.