“You act as though God has painted with only one shade of blue. One purple. What shade, would you say, did he paint Miss Vivienne Mourdant?”

Red. She was burnished copper, flaming red—with hints of gold. Mitchell shifted in his chair. “I don’t suppose you have much experience with madness, have you? Recognizing its signs and—”

Amusement touched the corners of Harford’s countenance. “I’ve met very few so-called sane people who interested me in the least, for they are all the same—or they try to be, and what’s the sense in that?” He leaned back a small bit into the chair. “I see the wisdom in your restraint, though. I do. Therefore, I will not push you in your pursuit of her.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll merely let your desires hurtle you toward her in spite of yourself.”

Mitchell blew out a breath again. He was plumb out of words. Denials only tangled the web further. So did his desires, which surfaced at nearly every mention of the auburn-haired pianist.

The man’s smile grew across his face. “One cannot help staring at the light, eh? Especially when he’s been cowering in the shadows for so long.”

Mitchell’s jaw flinched. He looked down.

“It’s quite all right, my good man. Allow yourself to be drawn to the light. You’ve a wick in you too. Perhaps together you can get it lit again.”

“I don’t need saving.”

Harford leaned forward, one palm on the desk between them. “Perhaps it’s time you quit choosing the darkness—quit lingering there. Whatever you believe you’re paying penance for, it’s costing you—and the people who need you—more than was ever intended.”

Tension rippled through Mitchell’s back, his shoulders.

“If you begin to think you are not worthy, too broken, you’re focused on the wrong person. Not to worry, grief does that to the best of us. But don’t be too long about it. You’ll miss the mission he has for you—and the gift.” His eyebrows rose. “Mayhap you don’t believe you need her. But one glance at her today, and you’ll see clearly how much she needs you just now.”

At this, his barely suppressed longings surfaced like a whale coming up for breath. He turned his body with a gasp, forcibly strong-arming them down. If you brought her to me, Father, I shall wait for you to open the doors. We’ll come together the right way, or not at all.

Yet he wasn’t certain how long he’d mean that. “The ethical code of patients and—”