“Passion is tragedy-in-waiting”

“She clutched the train ticket tighter and waited for the sense of escape to come over her as it had a dozen times before, that heady sensation of having just scooted through the clanging gate, of eluding the thrown net. It didn't come. She was running again, but she wasn't escaping. She'd been chased to ground a long, long time ago.”

“Avery?" she whispered.He gathered her closer, his eyes still closed."Avery?""Shh." His voice was low and infinitely sad. "Hush. Tomorrow's waiting outside this door. It's crouching there in an ocean of words and uncertainties. But it's not here yet and we are. Lily. Lillian. Love. I'm begging you. Let me love you again. Let me love you all night long." She answered with a kiss.”

“How can you love me?” she asked, forcing herself to say the words that would kill the tenderness in his eyes. “You don’t even know me. You know ‘Lady Agatha,’ a composite, a character, a role I played.”He shook his head, his negation gentle but certain. “I didn’t fall in love with a character, a title, or an occupation. I didn’t fall in love with you because of your past or despite it.“I love you because of your intensity and passion, because you make me want to be better than I am, because seeing my reflection in your eyes makes me better than I am. I love you because you laugh easily and honestly. I love you because you carried an ugly mutt into a drawing room as though it were a prince and because you gave an old soldier a strawberry trifle. I love you, Letty.”

“Why did you refuse to marry me then?” he demanded.She should be quiet; she should just stay mute. But she was angry and hurt. Only moments before he’d been saying such lovely things; now he was being horrible. “Why can’t you help yourself?” she countered, shouting back.“What?”“Why are you compelled to come after me?” she demanded, setting her hands on her hips.For a moment, he just stared at her as if she was daft.“Because I love you,” he finally said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.“What?” She’d waited to hear him say those words for what seemed like an eternity, and now he’d said them just as casually and unconcernedly as he might have said, “I like that dress” or “Spot is a good name for a dog.”“Because I love you,” he repeated. “Why else would I?”“I don’t know. Because you’re mad?” she suggested. How dare he say he loved her here, in such a manner, with so little fanfare?He was watching her carefully. “You seem upset.”“Oh. Do I?” she asked sweetly. Behind her, the horse shifted uneasily. Smart horse. “Perhaps it’s because I do not believe you.”

“Has he ever even said he loved you?""He's been telling me for years," she said softly, "I just wasn't listening”

“I love you,” she whispered, gazing up into his pale gray eyes.He smiled crookedly, for a moment looking at her with a dazzled air. He had, she realized sadly, no experience hearing those words. He didn’t know how to react. “I figured as much.”This time, she didn’t hit him.”