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It is easy to see why this is said to be the birthplace of Aphrodite. With every step I almost expect to see her as in Botticelli's painting,rising from the ocean, perfectly balanced on a giant shell, her long titian hair streaming around her.

If ever a perfect woman was born, surely this would be the place. I am in paradise. And yet...

And yet with every warm breeze and cloudless sky I am reminded that this is not my home, that I was born to live my life elsewhere. This does not quell the desire— no, the compulsion! — to travel, to see, to meet. But it does feed a strange longing to touch a dew-dampened lawn, or feel a cool mist on one's face, or even to remember the joy of a perfect day after a week of rain.

The people here can't know that joy. Their days are always perfect. Can one appreciate perfection when it is a constant in one's life?

22 February 1824

Troodos Mountains, Cyprus It is remarkable that I am cold. It is, of course, February, and as an Englishman I'm quite used to a February chill (as well as that of any month with an R in its name), but I am not in England. I am in Cyprus, in the heart of the Mediterranean, and just two days ago I was in Paphos, on the southwest coast of the island, where the sun is strong and the ocean salty and warm. Here, one can see the peak of Mount Olympus, still capped with snow so white one is temporarily blinded when the sun glints off of it.

The climb to this altitude was treacherous, with danger lurking around more than one corner. The road is rudimentary, and along the way we met.

Penelope let out a soft grunt of protest when she realized that the page ended in the middle of a sentence. Who had he met? What had happened?What danger?

She stared down at the journal, absolutely dying to flip the page and see what happened next. But when she'd started reading, she had managed to justify it by telling herself she wasn't really invading Colin's privacy;he'd left the book open, after all. She was only looking at what he had left exposed.

Turning the page, however, was something else altogether.

She reached out, then yanked her hand back. This wasn't right. She couldn't read his journal. Well, not beyond what she'd already read.

On the other hand, it was clear that these were words worth reading. It was a crime for Colin to keep

them for himself. Words should be celebrated, shared. They shouldbe—wOh, for God's sake," she muttered to herself. She reached for theedge of the page.wWhat are you doing?"

Penelope whirled around. "Colin!"wIndeed," he snapped.

Penelope lurched back. She'd never heard him use such a tone. She hadn't even thought him capable of it.

He strode across the room, grabbed the journal, and snapped it shut. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.wWaiting for Eloise," she managed to get out, her mouth suddenly quite dry.wIn the upstairs drawing room?"wWickham always takes me here. Your mother told him to treat me like family. I... uh ... he ... uh ..." She realized that she was wringing her hands together and willed herself to stop. "It's the same with my sister Felicity. Because she and Hyacinth are such good friends. I—I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

He threw the leather-bound book carelessly onto a nearby chair and crossed his arms. "And do you make a habit of reading the personal letters of others?"wNo, of course not. But it was open and—" She gulped, recognizing how awful the excuse sounded the second the words left her lips. "It's a public room," she mumbled, somehow feeling like she had to finish her defense. "Maybe you should have taken it with you."wWhere I went," he ground out, still visibly furious with her, "one doesn't ordinarilytake a book."wIt's not very big," she said, wondering why why why she was still talkingwhen she was so clearly in the wrong.wFor the love of God," he exploded. "Do you want me to say the word chamberpot in your presence?"

Penelope felt her cheeks blush deep red. "I'd better go," she said. "Please tell Eloise—"wI'llgo," Colin practically snarled. "I'm moving out this afternoon, anyway. Might as well leave now, since you've so obviously taken over the house."

Penelope had never thought that words could cause physical pain, but right then she would have sworn that she'd taken a knife to the heart. She hadn't realized until that very moment just how much it meant to her that Lady Bridgerton had opened her home to her.

Or how much it would hurt to know that Colin resented her presence there.wWhy do you have to make it so difficult to apologize?" she burst out, dogging his heels as he crossed the room to gather the rest of his things.wAnd why, pray tell, should I make it easy?" he returned., He didn't face her as he said it; he didn't even break his stride.wBecause it would be the nice thing to do," she groundout.

That got his attention. He whirled around, his eyes flashing so furiously that Penelope stumbled back a step. Colin was the nice one, the easygoing one. He didn't lose his temper.

Until now.wBecause it would be the nice thing to do?" he thundered. "Is that what you were thinking when you read my journal? That it would be a nice thing to read someone's private papers?"wNo, Colin, I—"wThere is nothing you can say—" he said, jabbing her in the shoulder with his indexringer.wColin! You—"

He turned around to gather his belongings, rudely giving her his back while he spoke. "Not a thing that could justify your behavior."wNo, of course not, but—"wOW!"

Penelope felt the blood drain from her face. Colin's yell was one of real pain. His name escaped her lips in a panicked whisper and she rushed to his side. "What's—Oh, my heavens!"

Blood was gushing from a wound on the palm of his hand.