Sunday lunch was lively that weekend. Matthew and Lucien talked about things they had got up to as youngsters, a few things about the war, but nothing that would upset the girls, and had everybody laughing at the things they got up to in school; not just dipping Esther Craven's plaits in ink wells!. Matthew drew him aside when Thomas went to answer the phone, a call from the hospital.

"Your father," he whispered, "you know he's getting on a bit, hearing's going ... it's just that when he deals with an autopsy ... it's not quite what it used to be, if you get my drift."

"Hm," Lucien mused, "are you asking me to take my father's position as police Surgeon, Senior Sergeant?" He quipped.

"Well, perhaps, offer to help out, or to ... I don't know, take one on when he's busy with surgery? Hell, Lucien, our new pathology registrar had to stop him making a complete arse of himself on the last one. She had to offer to take the report up to the office and rewrote it. Old bloke, died of an aneurism but your father said it was a blow to the head, Dr Harvey said she didn't know how he came to that conclusion, there was no outward signs, and the feller died in his bed." Matthew ran his fingers through his hair.

"I don't know, Matthew," Lucien grimaced, "I've seen a lot of death and destruction these past years, I don't know if I can take that on."

"Dr Harvey will be there, she's good, very good, but a bit, oh, a bit solemn, acerbic when somebody makes a stupid suggestion, but she's a bloody good doctor." Matthew was almost pleading.

Lucien sighed, it was true he needed to be occupied, but he had thought just the GP side of his father's practice, he pushed his hands into his pockets.

"Look, give it a go, on the next one," Matthew continued, "see how it is for you ..."

"We'll see."

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Li had another problem with Miss Craven. Jean was worried. Up to now there had been nothing other than Miss Craven pushing the girls towards housewifely subjects and away from such subjects as science and higher mathematics. This frustrated Li and on days when she had to hem a handkerchief or knit a scarf she would arrive home bad tempered and sulky.

"It's not fair, mama," she grumbled, "she didn't used to bother that much, but now she won't let us do anything but the easiest work."

"Hm" Jean placed a drink of juice and a biscuit in front of her, "perhaps your father should have a word. I know he wants you to learn as much as you can, and if you want to be a doctor ... he's out at the moment, helping Uncle Matthew, we'll talk to him later."

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Lucien was disappointed to hear that the science lessons had dropped off in favour of domestic subjects so decided that now he had better intervene in his daughter's education. His first autopsy had gone well, he had found Dr Harvey intelligent and blessed with a dark sense of humour, he wonder why she hadn't shown as much to Matthew, still, they had managed pretty well between them and she even said she would be interested to work with him again. Seeing her at work he was even more determined that should Li still want to be a doctor then he would do all in his power to help her achieve her goal.

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Miss Craven was surprised and not a little annoyed to received a request from Dr Lucien Blake for a meeting with regard to his daughter's progress.

In preparation for this he had set Li a little science test, on things he thought she should have known at her age. There was nothing difficult about it, he didn't ask her to dissect a frog or conduct an autopsy; just identify some parts of a plant, write down what it would need to grow successfully - all of which she knew because Jean had taught her - he gave her some labels and asked her to stick them onto the skeleton in the surgery, she knew some but not all, and asked her some simple questions about the human digestive system.

Lucien was disappointed but didn't let it show, and he didn't blame her for not listening, but when he asked her one or two questions about what she was taught he felt she was being let down.

"All the boys go out for science, papa," she sniffed, "when we do sewing or even cooking."

"I think the boys should learn how to cook," Jean huffed as she walked past the table with the casserole dish in her hands, "and wash and iron."

Lucien looked up and grinned, "well," he sighed, "if they want to join the forces they need to learn how to iron their uniform at the very least."

"So they should," she smiled back.

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Miss Craven sat behind her desk and peered shortsightedly at the man Lucien Blake had become. He had begun to fill out his frame, fed by Jean's good meals and the free access to the biscuit tin, he looked healthier than he had when he came back from the camp but there was a serious look on his face.

"Now, Miss Craven," he wasn't going to challenge her by calling her 'Esther' or, heaven forbid, 'Craven the raven', her nickname at school owing to her thin face, pinched nose and black hair, "about the science lessons ..." he let the implication hang in the air.

"Little girls," she sniffed, "should learn ladylike skills, doctor, not how to cut up bodies."

"I'm not suggesting they should join myself and Dr Harvey in the morgue, Miss Craven, but some basic science such as forces, basic biology and perhaps a little chemistry," he smiled, "some girls, like Li, have ambitions to be doctors or scientists - chemists and the like."

"Well, that's as maybe," she huffed, "I do not teach it."

"I believe the boys learn such skills," he linked his hands together on the desk.

"We separate boys and girls for some subjects," she agreed.

"I should like Li to join the boys for science, please," he squared his shoulders, he had had this discussion with Li and she had agreed that she would like to try joining the boys for science.

"Oh, no, no, no," she tutted, "we can't have that, the other girls won't like her getting special treatment."

"I see, well," he pushed his chair back and stood up, "perhaps I'd better teach her myself, then. What day do you teach sewing and knitting?"

"Er, Tuesday," she stammered.

"Lovely, well, Li won't be in school on Tuesday afternoons, then," he held out his hand, "good day to you." He turned on his heel and left her gaping.

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"Dear Dr Blake,"

the letter started,

"Miss Craven has informed me that you will be taking Li out of school during needlecraft lessons. We are very proud of Li's work in these lessons and fail to understand why you wish to remove her from this subject. I should be very grateful if you would contact myself to discuss the matter.

Yours sincerely

Miss Grace Wood

Headmistress."

"Not surprised, are you?" Jean asked, as she laid the table for dinner.

"No, but I thought Miss Craven might have explained why I wish to take Li out for these sessions," he shrugged, "but she always was a bit of a telltale."

"Miss Wood is very nice, Lucien," she stopped what she was doing, "she has been very supportive of both girls and they have always been happy there. True Li had some trouble with Patrick Tyneman's boy but that was all sorted. His grandfather, Michael, saw to it."

"Well, I better contact her then," he went to make the phone call.

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"Dr Blake," Miss Wood held out her hand, "how nice to meet you."

"Miss Wood," he smiled and lightly shook her hand. He saw a young woman, slight, smartly dressed, dark hair in a neat French pleat, deep brown eyes and a ready smile.

"Please," she indicated the chair opposite her and sat at her desk. "Now, Dr Blake, about Li .."

He held up his hand and smiled his charming, disarming smile, "Miss Wood, I'm sorry, you seem to have the wrong impression as to why I want to take Li out of needlework class."

"Miss Craven was, shall we say, most put out, Li is her best student ..."

"I'm sure she is," he nodded , "her mama has said her needlework is very fine, but, she is missing science lessons for this, and, as she wishes to be a doctor, science is rather important. She is not as able in this subject as I feel she should be."

"Really?" Miss Wood raised her eyebrows, "Miss Craven doesn't seem worried."

"Well, as she doesn't teach science, I don't see how she can judge ..."

"Excuse me?" Miss Wood drew her brows together, had she heard correctly, Miss Craven didn't teach science?

"She told me girls and boys are separated for science and needlework, I assumed she sent the boys to another teacher."

"Since when?" she queried, "we have never split classes by gender."

Lucien failed to see how a head-teacher could miss changes in the teaching of classes.

"I'm sorry, doctor," she shook her head, "I've had some time away from school, a bereavement, Miss Craven was in charge in my absence. Poor Li, she is a bright child, you should be proud of her - leave it with me, I shall speak to Miss Craven and see that science lessons are reinstated for all children."

"Thank you, Miss Wood," he stood and smiled, extending his hand, "I'm sorry to hear of your sadness ..." he didn't add how angry he was at Esther Craven's treatment of not only his daughter, but those other girls in her class that were being under-educated.

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The 'discussion' between Miss Wood and Miss Craven was heard by most of the school, although it was held behind closed doors.

Miss Wood was polite and kind, asked if Miss Craven was under some strain, or was she having difficulties at home? that she had to ask another teacher to take the science classes.

"Young ladies," Miss Craven huffed, "should not have ambitions towards scientific careers, Miss Wood. They should be looking to nurture the next generation, marry and keep a clean and tidy home."

"That's a somewhat Victorian attitude, Esther, dear," Miss Wood sighed, "we have moved on since then. In fact my own doctor is a woman That aside, we are not here to push children in one direction because of their gender. If you feel unable to teach science I shall ask Mr Russell to take the class and perhaps you can take his class for ... " she checked the timetable, "for art, as that is the subject on Tuesday afternoon."

Esther Craven did not think art was a worthy subject to teach, either, but she could see that Miss Wood had made her mind up. She stuck out her chin and strode out of the office, wondering who she could get on her side. Bloody Lucien Blake sticking his nose in where it wasn't wanted.

Aside from her old fashioned ideas about the teaching of girls, which had been hidden because Miss Wood ran a well organised school and insisted all children had the opportunity to learn a wide range of subjects, Miss Craven harboured deep and unpleasant feelings about Li Blake. Being left in charge of the school, which she felt was her right, she had been able to exact some of her revenge on the man who had scorned her when she was a teenager, by manipulating the timetable to keep Li from becoming the person she was destined to be. She had indicated, to certain members of the teaching staff that she had information on them that would see them sacked from their positions should they decide to let the Headmistress know of the changes she had initiated.

It was only the death of her father, in Brisbane, that had had Miss Wood take longer leave than she would have thought of, had he lived closer. Still, that was not the point. She had trusted Miss Craven to keep the school running while she was away as she herself would run it, and she had heard nothing to concern her when she returned, though she had only been back in post a week.

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The following Tuesday, Li asked if Lucien would collect her from school. Miss Craven had been dismissive of all the girl had written or worked on since the science lessons had been reinstated, she had held her up to ridicule when she made a mistake in her spelling, blaming it on her parentage. Li didn't want to say anything to her father, thinking it would only make things worse than they already were. She also insisted none of her friends said anything either and she kept up a cheerful exterior while being hurt inside.

"I would be delighted to walk you home, sweetheart," he smiled, "I shall be at the school gates at four o'clock."

"Thank you, papa," she hugged him, "some of my friends are really pleased we have the science lessons back, and Mr Russell to teach it."

Jean made a mental note to ensure he was on time, she had never asked to be collected since she had been deemed old enough to walk home by herself, or with a group of friends. She had an idea there was more to it, than her friends wanting to thank him in person.

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Lucien exchanged pleasantries with some of the parents waiting to collect their children, some were his father's patients and wanted to know if he would be taking over the practice?

"I'm not sure," he smiled, "it does depend on what he wants, don't you think?" He doffed his hat.

The children started drifting out, running over to their parents chattering and laughing. Lucien waited patiently until one little girl came running over.

"Dr Blake," she gasped, trying to get her breath, "Li is being kept back by Miss Craven."

"Why?"

"I think it's because Li told her she had made a mistake in her lesson," the girl replied, "she was very polite, not in the least rude, but she labelled the map wrong, apparently, with Singapore."

"Thank you ..?"

"Alice," she smiled, "you're welcome, Li's my friend."

Lucien strode purposefully across the playground thinking Li had a good friend in Alice.

Li was standing in the classroom as Miss Craven told her what she thought about little girls who thought they knew more than their teachers and contradicted them.

"Uppity, that what you are, miss," she hissed, "just like your father."

"But, Miss Craven," Li stuttered, "that's Kuala Lumpur," Li persisted, "Singapore is below it."

"That's quite enough from you," she grabbed her hand, holding it palm up and raised her other hand in which she held a cane. She brought it down on the small hand leaving a welt across the palm. Li bit her bottom lip and refused to cry. Miss Craven brought the cane up again and prepared to strike again.

Part of Lucien froze at the sight as he pushed the door silently open. Memories flooded back, but there was part of him that stayed in the present - and at the present his daughter, who he had tried his best to protect, was being beaten, in a similar way to himself. He reached out and grabbed the hand holding the cane.

"Nobody beats my daughter, Esther," he grunted, "nobody." He bent the cane across his knee until it snapped.

"Papa," Li wrapped her arms round him, "I only told her she had made a mistake, on the map. I didn't mean to be rude."

"Dr Blake," Miss Wood had been alerted by Alice that he was in the building and that Miss Craven was using the cane on Li, "oh, my goodness, Miss Craven ..."

"She ...she ..." Esther stuttered.

"Come now, Miss Craven," Miss Wood reached for her elbow, "let's go and have a cuppa and talk about this, Dr Blake," she turned to the shaking father, "perhaps you would like to take Li home."

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He didn't know how he made it home, safely, driving Li back to the sanctuary of Mycroft Avenue. He took her into the surgery to examine her hand and give any treatment she may need. The welt across her palm was red, angry looking, but the skin wasn't broken.

"Ice, I think darling child," he put his arm round her and drew her into a warm hug, "I don't know what she was thinking," he shook his head sadly, "to cane you over that."

"I'm sorry, papa," she sniffed, finally allowing the tears to fall, "she got worse after you came home. I was so happy and she was so mean."

"You should have said something," he sat down and pulled her onto his knee, "not let her upset you."

"But, papa," she snuggled into his shoulder, "you had just come back from a prisoner of war camp. I know it was dreadful, I heard mama and gran'papa talk about it."

He pulled back and looked at her.

"Oh, it's alright," she smiled, "they didn't tell me, I ... er ... I listened one night, when I should have been in bed. Sorry," she whispered and hung her head in shame.

"I suppose you needed to know," Lucien sighed, "but, no matter. You know, I made it, and though sometimes I might be a bit glum, I'm so very glad to be home, Li."

"Mama said my mother, your wife, died helping other people, is that right?"

"She was working in the hospital when she died," he sighed, "along with some other people."

"So she was doing something good, not poorly?"

"Yes love."

They sat for a while, even though Li really did want to go and get the ice for her hand, but it was comfortable on his knee, in his arms. He wondered how much she remembered of Mei Lin, this was the first time she had mentioned her. Sitting reading to her at night, he had realised how she had known him, that day he had arrived home. The photograph on the chest of drawers in the bedroom a constant reminder of her parents so far away.

"I don't remember her, really," she hummed, finally, "I vaguely remember someone who looked after me, but not her."

"You had a nanny," Lucien stroked her hair, "your mother was ... " what to say, that Mei Lin only had her because it was expected, that she didn't like babies?

"Probably very busy," Li nodded, and Lucien agreed; it was best she thought that rather than the truth, that she was 'busy' partying or sleeping with his best friend. He took a deep breath - that was the past, this was the present and his future was here, in Ballarat, with his daughter, his father and the little family that had grown out of compassion and need.

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Miss Wood didn't quite know what to do with Esther Craven. She could sack her, but felt that was a bit extreme, the cane was used as punishment, though she herself had never resorted to it. She could perhaps offer her some leave on medical grounds, then let her return and teach any class that didn't have Li Blake in it, for she felt that was where the trouble lay.

When she had taken her away from Lucien and set her down in the office with a cup of tea she had muttered about Lucien Blake and his high handedness.

"I take it, Esther," she spoke softly, "you knew Dr Blake when he was young?"

Miss Craven just huffed.

"You seem to bear him a grudge, a very old one," she persisted, "is that wise, to let it eat you up like that. Wouldn't it be better to let bygones be bygones, or, if you can't do that, ignore him?"

Esther Craven could not admit that, when she was a teenager, she had fallen head over heels in love with the handsome, blonde, doctor's son but he had spurned her, laughed with his friends at her simpering and fluttering eyelashes then taken Monica Parker out and other girls in town. She was convinced that if she had shown herself willing to warm his bed he would have taken more notice of her, but no, her church, her strict parents would have been horrified at such behaviour. He was probably sleeping with the housekeeper - everyone knew she had had to get married, then divorced her feckless husband. She could never believe that Lucien Blake was not interested in her, that she was not 'his type'.

Esther had never understood how Jean had been able to shake off the shame of becoming pregnant outside marriage, and was a respected member of the community. She didn't know the whole story, or even as much as most, but to her, Jean was little more than a harlot. They had met rarely, once in school when they had discussed Li's progress and occasionally in passing.

Jean, herself, found her rather hard, a little rude looking down her nose at her, but she decided it wasn't worth making a fuss about; that she probably thought working mothers and housekeepers were beneath her. Every other teacher nodded and smiled and greeted her pleasantly, and, as she noted to Thomas, one day, "not everybody is going to be your friend."

In the end, Miss Wood persuaded Miss Craven to take a leave of absence, on health grounds, and to return to another class that would not be such hard work. In truth, she didn't know which class to put her in. The little ones would be terrified of her and the older ones would challenge her. Perhaps she would decide teaching was no longer for her - one could only hope.

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The experience of seeing his daughter with the cane raised above her hand had upset Lucien more than he realised. The nightmares that still occurred became more real and he started to wake Jean more often than he had of late. Now the cries were of pain and it was during one of his worst moments, that Jean saw some of the marks on his back.

He had called out and out of habit Jean went to him. It was a warm night and he had not put on a pyjama top and thrown most of his bedcovers off the bed, before he got in. In the light from the moon, streaming between the curtains, she saw him curled up on the bed flinching at the sting of the lash that landed on his back in his subconscious.

She stepped forward, trying to avoid looking at his back, but not out of horror or disgust, more that she didn't want him to be embarrassed that she had seen. Perhaps this was why the most she had seen him down to was his singlet when he chopped wood or cut the grass.

"Lucien," she whispered, "Lucien, it's Jean, everything's alright."

"Nngh," he huffed, "ugh!"

She sat gently on the edge of the bed, "come on, Lucien," she reached for his right hand that was closest to her, "come with me," she closed her fingers round his, "let's have some tea." His fingers instinctively grabbed onto hers, so tight it made her wince but she didn't pull away, instead she reached over with her other hand and pushed the curls off his forehead. She felt him start to relax and stir from his tortured slumber.

"Jean," he swallowed, "oh, Jean, I'm sorry," he sniffed and tried to push himself into a sitting position, "I've hurt your hand." He looked down and released the fingers.

"It's fine, Lucien, really," she pulled her hands in to her lap.

"I'll see you in the kitchen, tea?" she pushed herself off the bed and stepped back.

"Er, yes," he looked down, realising he was on show, to her, "thank you."

She left the room flexing her sore fingers and musing on what she had seen. The dream, or nightmare, he had had must have been triggered by Miss Craven's treatment of Li. It must have brought back memories of beatings he had endured, if the scars she could just see in the moonlight, were anything to go by.

As she made the tea she reflected that his nightmares had become less severe and much easier to stop. Sometimes just her voice, telling him he was safe, was enough, and she would go back to her bed without making the tea. This one needed tea and either silence or her ear, he would take the lead on this.

He appeared as she was pouring the boiling water onto the leaves in the pot. He was ashamed, held his robe, fine oriental silk, navy blue with exotic birds and flowers embroidered on it, tightly round him, as if he could erase the memory of what she had seen.

He sat in his customary seat and waited while she poured his tea and added milk and sugar to her own. He could see red marks where he had held her hands and the guilt resurfaced.

"I'm so very sorry Jean," he sniffed, "your hand ..."

"... is fine," she reached over instinctively to soothe him and he touched the fingers. As she made to draw them away he lifted her hand and lightly kissed it.

She ducked her head and blushed furiously.

She pulled her hand back and attempted to recover her composure. She couldn't ask about the marks on his skin, he would be mortified, though he surely knew she had seen more than he wanted her to. They sat in silence and drank their tea. Lucien watched her from under his eyelids and once again mused on the generosity and gentleness of this woman before him. He was drawn to her more and more, in spite of her holding back, always aware of her position in the household. Yet he knew she was more than she thought - more than just the housekeeper, she ran the house and surgery, she kept everything as it should be, in its place and quite proper. He would one day find out who she really was, apart from a wronged wife, divorced and forced to earn a living for her and her child; though, he wondered, surely now she was a widow?

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Thomas felt as if a burden had been lifted from him, when Lucien did his first autopsy for the police. He found them quite tiring, these days, saddening and confusing. He had always hoped that he would be able to retire when his son came home, if he came home, and now he had, so perhaps ...

He sat up in bed, another bout of indigestion. Jean was up, he could hear muffled sounds as the girls shrieked at something someone had said, probably Lucien. He should get up and see if a cup of tea would help if not, some milk of magnesia. Wrapping his robe around him, though the morning was warm, he shuffled through the living room.

Jean looked up across the table and smiled as she saw him, then her face dropped. His face fell and he was grimacing, clutching his chest.

"Thomas!"

Lucien looked round. He jumped up and caught his father as he fell to the floor.

"Jean, an ambulance!" He lay Thomas on the floor and took his pulse. Weak and ragged - possibly a heart attack.

Everything happened at lightning speed, it seemed to all in the house. Lucien went with his father and said he would ring as soon as he had any news.

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Thomas woke to soft light, muted voices, a drip in his arm but more importantly his son's hand in his.

"Well, father," Lucien smiled, "you gave us quite a fright."

"Lucien ..."

"Shh ..." he patted his shoulder, "you have had a heart attack, not a big one, but big enough and you need to rest."

"The girls? Jean?"

"Are fine, shocked but fine. I shall ring again, shortly, and let them know you have come round." Lucien squeezed his hand, "now I know you don't like being a patient, so if you are a good one, and behave yourself, I shall arrange for you to come home to be nursed. Jean is probably stricter than any of the sisters here, anyway."

Thomas thought back to the time he had had the flu and smiled weakly, nodding in agreement.

"If you are in agreement," Lucien continued, "I shall take over the practice and police duties, until you are fit to return to it, or not, as the case maybe."

"Not the police duties, son," he sighed, "I really don't think I want to do those anymore, you do them, Matthew says you do a good job, maybe a little too thorough, doing your own investigations."

Lucien stared at him, true he had gone a little further than just pronouncing the cause of death ... and he had actually enjoyed it, 'making a difference', he called it.

"We'll see."

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With Thomas in hospital Lucien took over the surgery and the police surgeon duties. Jean showed him how things ran, how she would take the receipts each night and send out bills, letters and do the books. She would arrange the appointments, rearranged them if he was called out, greet the patients and see them out. File the notes at the end of each surgery and set them out at the beginning. All of which he knew, he had watched her over the weeks, quietly and efficiently moving around the house, leaving behind her a wake of calm.

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They sat, one evening discussing Thomas' return from the hospital. Lucien had confided in Jean that the end of the week was a possibility, but ...

"The stairs, Jean," he swirled a whisky round the crystal glass, "I'm worried they may be a bit of a strain for him, and I don't want you dealing with bottles and bedpans."

"I wondered the same," she agreed, "he was beginning to find them hard going, I noticed."

"Hm, any ideas?"

"Well," she tipped her head, sipped her sherry and thought, "there is that little dressing room beside his bedroom, a small bathroom, perhaps."

"Could it be done?"

"Probably, but I don't know what it would cost."

"Can you see?" he asked, "you know the trades-people better than me, get a couple of quotes."

"If you think it can be afforded," she knew what the finances were, what was in the surgery account, what was in her own account and Thomas' but his ... she supposed the army were still paying him.

Lucien knew he had enough in his account, he had barely spent anything above a couple of new suits, shirts and undergarments that he had purchased since he had returned home. The clothes he had arrived with had been washed or discarded depending on Jean's opinion as to whether they were reparable, his trunk had arrived and any clothes in that had been cleaned and put away - they were worn and laundered as part of his regular wardrobe.

"I'm sure it can be," he nodded, "a loo, washbasin and shower, I think."

"What about a bath?"

"Trouble is, Jean, he might become too infirm to get out of a bath," he leant forward and she could see him thinking through the care his father would need, "a stool, in the shower would be easier for him. He would be embarrassed if he had to call you to help him, if I'm not around."

"I see," she drew her brows together as she visualised the room, "linoleum for the floor, then, carpet would get soaked and start to smell."

"Excellent," he smiled, "I can see father is in the most capable of hands."

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It was a tight schedule, to get a shower room fitted in time for Thomas returning, but they managed it, by the skin of their teeth. Lucien found her, the night before, adding the final touches of towels, toiletries and Thomas' shaving equipment to the shelves and sill. She had found a chair he could sit in to dry himself and the stool was discreetly put in the corner of the shower cubicle. They had both visited the elder doctor in hospital to tell him of the changes and has he had started to protest that he didn't need mollycoddling Jean had frowned and he had fallen silent. Lucien had found it hard not to laugh at the way she could wind his father round her little finger, when he knew she was right. The protest was a token one, Thomas knew, deep down, they were right, but would only admit it to himself.

"Jean," he put his hands on her shoulders, "it looks lovely, he has everything?"

Lucien had never touched her like that and she didn't know whether she should like it, or welcome it, but she had noticed his reticence had become less over the months, and his naturally tactile nature had come to the fore, especially after the night he had kissed her fingers. But this affectionate squeeze was more than the usual light tap to her arm, or ushering her forward with his hand in her lower back.

"I can't think of anything else he had in the upstairs bathroom, so, yes," she nodded but didn't turn, her cheeks were burning.

The kiss to the top of her head had her heart pounding and she struggled to control her breathing. Lucien knew precisely what he was doing to her and one day he was determined she would fill his arms, but for now he would be content with her allowing the contact they had and love her from afar. For he was sure it was love, not infatuation, not lust - though he had thought her pretty when he first met her, it was more than her looks that drew him to her, it was who she was - kind, generous, practical, teasing and strong, unafraid of the things that life threw at her, a core of steel. The complete opposite of Mei Lin.