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your body. I merely wished to braille you—I thought we had got to know one another well enough for that.’
    It was an awful dilemma, for Merlin didn’t dare to let his hands have contact with her face or her figure; those fingers of his had been highly sensitive and aware of skin textures and bone construction before his blindness, and if he touched her now he would realise instantly that she was not what she claimed to be ... a middle-aged woman.
    Then, with a shrug and a mordant little twist of his lip, he said: ‘What made you stay single—did you never wish to marry?’
    So that was what he assumed, that she was a frigid prude who shrank from physical contact with a man! Well, it couldn’t be helped if he took her for that sort, but there was something very mocking in the way he thrust both hands into the pockets of his trousers, letting her know that she was safe from their marauding ... for now.
    ‘I—I imagine most women like to be married,’ she replied, a burning in her cheeks.
    ‘So you never met the right man, eh?’
    She gazed into his sightless eyes and poignant on her mouth, like a frozen kiss, was the answer she could never put into words. ‘I’m not a woman that men seem to notice.’
    ‘It is said in this part of the world that for every man there is a soul in the shape of a woman, that until she appears the man is without his soul. Perhaps it will yet happen.’
    ‘No!’
    ‘You sound so sure—or are you basically afraid of the idea of marriage and all it entails?’
    ‘I’m content with what I have.’
    ‘An existence all on one level, Miss Lakeside? The heights can never be reached for a woman alone.’
    ‘Surely that goes for a man as well, if you are talking about the emotional side and not just the physical?’
    ‘Ja, for a man it is also sadly true, no heights, no suspension among the stars.’
    ‘Are you a romantic at heart, mynheer?’
    ‘If to be romantic is to know that there is something always a little out of reach, until one day it is suddenly there, tangible, touchable, visible.’
    He broke off, a sigh dropping from his lips. ‘Yes, perhaps I was romantic, for I was aware of this—this strange unseen but felt presence in my life, waiting to take shape as a woman I could—love.’
    Such unexpected words from Paul, who had always looked so aloofly sure of himself and how he meant to shape his life, taking in his own good time a cool and soignée wife who would grace his home and be intelligent in the company of his medical friends. Merlin’s eyes raced over his strong, commanding features and her gaze fell more slowly to the deep neck opening of his shirt ... he had seemed more complete than other men, with all his priorities firmly listed and little margin left for even a scribbled note that he wanted to fall in love and experience for himself all the mystery and excitement of falling for an unknown girl who might be unsuitable for a high-ranking surgeon. It had seemed a foregone conclusion that he meant to select a wife from among the smart, socially well-placed women whom he dated.
    Love? Strangely enough Merlin had never been able to imagine the commanding Paul van Setan in the grip of passion, his eyes stormy, his mouth hungry, his hair unruly on a hot forehead. He had seemed not to need that kind of emotion, an inspired healer of bodies rather than a lover.
    How innocent her own love had been in those days ... how warm and aware it poured through her veins right now.
    Human like this, though blinded, he was even more desirable and she had to grip her hands together in case they obeyed a compulsion of their own and reached out for the firm column of his neck and those powerful shoulders across which the brown silk was taut and just a few shades darker than his tanned skin. As she watched him he raised his grey eyes to the sky and she ached that he saw only blackness and none of the blueness. ..
    Blue ... she looked as well and caught her breath. The sky was darkly