“He glanced at her. “You were the moon of my existence; your moods dictated the tides of my heart.”The tides of her own heart surged at his words, even though his words were nothing but lies.”

“It’s a long story,” he said, taking a sip of Mr. Braeburn’s whiskey, “so I will tell only avery condensed version of it.“Mrs. Marsden and I grew up on adjacent properties in the Cotswold. But the Cotswold, asfair as it is, plays almost no part in this tale. Because it was not in the green, unpollutedcountryside that we fell in love, but in gray, sooty London. Love at first sight, of course, ahunger of the soul that could not be denied.”Bryony trembled somewhere inside. This was not their story, but her story, the determinedspinster felled by the magnificence and charm of the gorgeous young thing.He glanced at her. “You were the moon of my existence; your moods dictated the tides ofmy heart.”The tides of her own heart surged at his words, even though his words were nothing butlies.“I don’t believe I had moods,” she said severely.“No, of course not. ‘Thou art more lovely and more temperate’—and the tides of my heartonly rose ever higher to crash against the levee of my self-possession. For I loved you mostintemperately, my dear Mrs. Marsden.”Beside her Mrs. Braeburn blushed, her eyes bright. Bryony was furious at Leo, for hisfacile words, and even more so at herself, for the painful pleasure that trickled into her dropby drop.“Our wedding was the happiest hour of my life, that we would belong to each other always.The church was filled with hyacinths and camellias, and the crowd overflowed to the steps,for the whole world wanted to see who had at last captured your lofty heart.“But alas, I had not truly captured your lofty heart, had I? I but held it for a moment. Andsoon there was trouble in Paradise. One day, you said to me, ‘My hair has turned white. It is asign I must wander far and away. Find me then, if you can. Then and only then will I be yoursagain.’”Her heart pounded again. How did he know that she had indeed taken her hair turning whiteas a sign that the time had come for her to leave? No, he did not know. He’d made it up out ofwhole cloth. But even Mr. Braeburn was spellbound by this ridiculous tale. She had forgottenhow hypnotic Leo could be, when he wished to beguile a crowd.“And so I have searched. From the poles to the tropics, from the shores of China to theshores of Nova Scotia. Our wedding photograph in hand, I have asked crowds pale, red,brown, and black, ‘I seek an English lady doctor, my lost beloved. Have you seen her?’”He looked into her eyes, and she could not look away, as mesmerized as the haplessBraeburns.“And now I have found you at last.” He raised his glass. “To the beginning of the rest ofour lives.”

“The explanation for her absence had been staring him in the face all the while, but he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it: The affair meant nothing to her. He’d been the only one bewitched body and soul. For her, he’d been but a temporary source of entertainment, a way to pass the otherwise tedious hours in the middle of an ocean.He’d been the one to press for a continuation of their affair beyond the voyage. He’d been the one to offer his heart, his hand, his every last secret. She never even gave her real name.And, of course, never showed her face.”

“I love everything about her, including her talent for breaking my heart.”

“She touched him, placing her hand over his curled fingers, straightening them so that they were palm to palm, then she interlaced her fingers with his. Her fingertips were icy. A silent, dangerous thrill coursed through him. He wanted to pull her atop him and show her what awaited a foolish young woman who slipped into a man's bedroom in the dead of the night after having devoured him all evening with those dark, intense eyes of hers, setting his blood to simmer over three long hours.”

“What is withdrawal?""Let's see, since you know your scripture so well, was that Onan? Yes, that bugger. What he did.""Spilling his seed on the floor?""Yes," continued her husband, "it would be lovely if I could take you and spill my seed somewhere else. Not on the floor, mind you. But perhaps on your very soft belly. Perhaps even on your splendid breasts. and perhaps, if I'm in a really terrible mood, I'll make you swallow it.- Vere to Elissande”

“And in the depth of her eyes were all these years—seasons they’d known, paths they’d trod.Slowly he entered her again. Everything reflected in her gaze: shyness, yearning, ripples of pleasure.The pleasure turned fierce, then ferocious. He labored to draw breath. In the wash of her climax, she closed her eyes. He closed his own eyes and yielded to the moment.”