“And now she's right where she wants to be,Lucy thought with a stab of fury. How easily men were taken in by women! A few tears, some sweet Southern helplessness. Oh,it must have been ridiculously easy for Raine.And here she, Lucy, was, harboring the woman under her own roof! It had the makings of a fine farce.”

“You're unbelievable," he said in a low voice, and it wasn't a compliment. "It amazes me that there was ever a time I thought you needed toughening up.""Would you prefer someone more...helpless?"Even Lucy had to admit that she had pushed him too far.”

“Now the line was drawn. Lucy had never thought that one of the fiercest battles of her life would be fought over a breakfast table, with quiet words carefully chosen.”

“How sweet," Annabelle mumbled sickly her eyes closed. "Every woman dreams of being told that she's preferable to a dead cow.”

“Do you think it will make good wine?”“Probably not,” he said, and laughed.“Then why have you gone to so much trouble?”“Because you never know. The grapes might turn out to reveal some attributes of the wine that you never expected. Something that expresses this place more perfectly than anything you could have planned. You have to…”As Sam paused, searching for the right phrase, Lucy said softly, “You have to take a leap of faith.”Sam gave her an arrested glance. “Yes.”Lucy understood all too well. There were times in life when you had to take a risk that might end in failure. Because otherwise you would be haunted by what you hadn’t done…the paths you hadn’t taken, the things you hadn’t experienced.”

“Ah, Evie,” she heard him say softly, “I must have a heart, after all…because right now it aches like the devil.”“Only your heart?” she asked ingenuously, making him laugh.He lowered her to the bed, his eyes sparkling wickedly. “Also a few other things,” he conceded. “And as my wife, it’s your duty to ease all my aches.”

“You know,” she said dreamily, passing over his question, “you’re not nearly as handsome as Lord St.Vincent.”“There’s a surprise,” he said dryly.“But for some reason,” she continued, “I never want to kiss him the way I do you.” It was a good thing that she had closed her eyes, for if she had seen his expression, she might not have continued. “There is something about you that makes me feel terribly wicked. You make me want to do shocking things. Maybe it’s because you’re so proper. Your necktie is never crooked, and your shoes are always shiny. And your shirts are so starchy. Sometimes when I look at you, I want to tear off all your buttons. Or set your trousers on fire.”