“I stepped closer still. He closed his eyes again and covered my hand with his own. 'You smell of violets. You always smell of violets,' he said. 'You've no idea how many times I have walked these moors and smelled them and thought you were near. On and on I walked, following the scent of you, and you were never there. When I saw you in the hall tonight, I thought I had finally gone mad.”

“I will make arrangements for you and Portia to return to London the following day. I will be closing up the house. I am leaving England for a while.""For how long?" I asked him, determined to keep my composure."Until I am quite recovered from you," he said evenly. "When will you return?""Never.”

“A tiny smile played over his lips as he glanced down at my hand. "Do you mean to win me over with feminine wiles? I must admit it is a more diverting notion than your usual method of screaming at me like a fishwife."I did not rise to the bait. I simply looked at him. "Please."He caught his breath, a slow smile warming his features. "My god, you are trying to seduce me.""I am not." I said primly. "I am merely trying to get your attention."He bent swiftly and kissed me hard, pulling back so suddenly I nearly toppled over. "I believe I have already made it quite clear you have my attention.”

“I put my hands on my hips, not caring if I sounded like a Billingsgate fishwife. “Yes, it was a dangerous thing to do, but as it seems to have escaped your attention, I remind you I am above thirty years of age, of sound body and mind, and in control of my own fortune. That means,” I said, moving closer still, poking his chest for emphasis, “I am mistress of myself and answer to no one.”

“He had strong, steady hands, and I could tell from looking at them there was little he couldn't do. Mossy always said you could tell everything you needed to know about a man from his hands. Some hands, she told me, were leaving hands. They were the wandering sort that slipped into places they shouldn't, and they would wander right off again because those hands just couldn't stay still. Some hands were worthless hands, fit only to hold a drink or flick ash from a cigar, and some were punishing hands that hit hard and didn't leave a mark and those were the ones you never stayed to see twice.But the best hands were knowing hands, Mossy told me with a slow smile. Knowing hands were capable; they could soothe a horse or woman. They could take things apart -- including your heart -- and put them back together better than before. Knowing hands were rare, but if you found them, they were worth holding, at least for a little while.”

“I am sorry " I murmured. "I know. I ought not to have threatened to beat you " he returned. He pressed a kiss to my hair. "I just cannot bear to be kept out of your life " I said into the dark. He gave a sigh. "Julia you daft woman. When you will you understand You are my life.”

“When the wind is right and the cloud is gone, you can see down this road as far as Darjeeling," I told her. "But it is a long and difficult road, full of perils, and if a traveller on foot were to look at the length of it, his spirit would be overcome and he would sit down and refuse to go any further. You must not look to the end of the road, Portia. Look only to the step in front of you. That you can do. Just one step. And you will not make the journey alone.”