“She stared at him, horrified. And thrilled. And horrified at being thrilled.”

“Thank you,” she forced herself to say. “I would be most . . . relieved.” He led her to the floor, where they queued up for the country dance. “Relieved?” he murmured with amusement. “Ladies usually find themselves ‘delighted’ or ‘honored’ to dance with me. Even ‘thrilled.’ ” She shrugged helplessly. “It was the first word that came to mind.”

“Violet tried the door latch. Locked, of course. Wordlessly, she pulled a hairpin from her wind-mussed chignon and handed it to him. He stared at it. “What makes you think I know how to pick locks?” he whispered. “Just because I’m a spy?” “No. Because you were forever stealing pocket money from your father’s top desk drawer.” Bloody hell. She truly had been paying attention.”

“She would allow him to comfort her. And perhaps, someday, she would listen patiently if a dark, dreary night found him well in his cups and he drunkenly confessed to still feeling scores of wounds that weren’t his own, but those of men under his command.”

“The words burned on her tongue, but Minerva couldn’t give them voice. What a hopeless coward she was. She could pound on his door at midnight and demand to be respected as an individual. She could travel across the country in hopes of being appreciated for her scholarly achievements. But she still lacked the courage to ask for the one thing she wanted most.To be loved, just for herself.”

“Colin stared at the officer. “Thorne, you scare me. I’m not ashamed to say it.”

“She couldn't "heal" him. No woman could. Events that far in the past just couldn't be undone. But perhaps he didn't need a cure, but . . . a lens. Someone who accepted him for the imperfect person he was, and then helped him to see the world clear. Like spectacles did for her.”