“Lord Crane, my problem is this: I don’t quite see how this business between you ends, other than with you going back to China and leaving Steph alone with twelve-hour days in the justiciary and a handful of memories.”
“It won’t happen.” The picture conjured up by those words was intolerable. “I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving him.”

“Well, you’re quite right,” Crane said. “Stephen can, of course, use my power, for two reasons. Firstly, because it’s his, just as all I am and all I have are his. Not that he ever asks, of course. I’m not sure that he quite believes it.” He looked round at Stephen, a rueful smile dawning, ignoring Fairley’s loud noises of disgust. “But I do hope you are aware, my sweet, somewhere in that absurd heart, that I am ever, entirely, and quite pathetically yours.”

“I meant it.” Crane took his hand, long fingers curling around Stephen’s. “It was under duress, admittedly, in that I had no reason to believe that we were going to survive, but I meant it. All yours, Stephen. I do not want to be without you.”