“That if he were killed in the next few weeks, it would assuredly be near her. At her feet, in her bed. Inside of her.Unfortunately, that last thought just made him think that if he had to choose his final moments, beinginside Charlotte would really be the way to go.”

“He thought about alone in Constantinople that time, having quarreled in Paris before he had gone out. He had whored the whole time and then, when that was over, and he had failed to kill his loneliness, but only made it worse, he had written her, the first one, the one who left him, a letter telling her how he had never been able to kill it . . . . How when he thought he saw her outside the Regence one time it made him go all faint and sick inside, and that he would follow a woman that looked like her in some way, along the Boulevard, afraid to see it was not she, afraid to lose the feeling it gave him. How every one he had slept with had only made him miss her more. How what she had done could never matter since he could never cure himself of loving her.”

“And he, in his way, talked with her about everything, and shared with her everything, he thought would not be too painful for her, even though she was gladly willing to pay the pain levy, which was sometimes unbearable, only so that he would not for a moment stop the flow of his talk with her, so he would not filter or protect her or think twice.”

“People were intrinsically selfish, and many hated the idea of a woman in charge of the Institute. They would not put themselves at risk for her. Only a few weeks ago he would have said the same thing about himself. Now, knowing Charlotte, he realized to his surprise, the idea of risking himself for her seemed an honor, as it would be to most Englishmen to risk themselves for the queen.”

“Writing this, he had reached the pit of despair and he thought that reading it, she would at least begin to sense his tragedy and her part in it. It was not that she had ever forced her way on him. That had never been necessary. Her way had simply been the air he breathed and when at last he had found other air, he couldn't survive in it. He felt that even if she didn't understand at once, the letter would leave her with an enduring chill and perhaps in time lead her to see herself as she was.”

“If Spence had really wanted to bed Miss Nordstrum, he would have said how she’d been in his mind since the moment he arrived in Reederville. He’d have added that her visits to Amanda after the baby’s birth had given him hope that she might have come in part to see him.And he would have ended by assuring her that when he agreed to go riding with her today it hadn’t been with the intention of kissing her, buther beauty had stolen his senses away and he couldn’t resist hercharms. He wouldn’t have fucked her that afternoon, but sometime within a month, he could’ve seduced her into bed.Spence was a master at weaving a spell of words to charm a womaninto doing what he wanted. Hadn’t he proven that with Amanda? Amanda, who wouldn’t leave his head, day or night.Amanda, the most colossal mistake of his life.”