Saw your nicely strung-up slab of bacon.” “Don’t insult bacon,” said Sidheag.
Well, you are a werewolf, Scottish, naked, and covered in blood, and I am still holding your hand.” He.
Lord Maccon believed that if his trousers were on his legs, and something else was on his torso, he was dressed. The less done after that, the better. His wife had been startled to find that in the summertime, he actually went around their room barefoot! Once – and only once, mind you – he even attempted to join her for tea in such a state. Impossible man. Alexia put a stop to that posthaste.
Felix looked as if he had been given some kind of caped weasel – part gift, part insult, part utter confusion. “Thank you, I think.
Torture?” Primrose’s tone was thoughtful. “Cold tea?” “German poetry.” Percy reached to a shelf and offered up an unpleasantly fat leather-bound volume. Rue was arrested. “There’s such a thing as German poetry?” Primrose nodded seriously. “Yes. Save yourself.
Just because history says it isn’t possible doesn’t mean that there aren’t exceptions.
Felix ran his hands through his dark hair, sounding like a resigned maiden aunt. ‘It’ll all end in tears and coal dust, you see if it doesn’t.
Well, do be careful, my love. Poetry can cause irreparable harm when misapplied.
She investigated further: moving along with little kisses down his throat and over his collarbone until she came to the same location on his neck that on hers was currently a decorative black and blue color. She bit him. Hard. Alexia never did anything by halves.
Espionage, Sophronia had learned, was tough on petticoats.
He might have lost his mind, but never his fashion sense.
Very well, Miss Temminnick. Tell me a little about yourself. Are you well-educated?” Sophronia considered this question seriously. “I don’t believe so.” “Excellent. Ignorance is most undervalued in a student. And have you killed anyone recently?” Sophronia blinked. “Pardon?” “Oh, you know, a knife to the neck, or perhaps a cleverly noosed cravat?” Sophronia said only, “Not my preferred diversion.” “Oh, dear, how disappointing. Well, don’t you fret. We shall soon find you some useful hobby.
Lord Maccon was Scottish-big; this gentleman was only English-big – there was a distinct difference.
Alexia was rather strapping. He preferred her that way. Undersized women reminded him of yippy dogs.
Do not trouble me with such weak excuses.
After every unladylike action, there must be an equal and opposite reaction. Consider the necessary, analyze the consequences, clean up the mess.
Alexia found her voice. “Couldn’t I just whack him once? Just a little one, over the head? He would hardly notice.
Great, Alexia thought, I have gone from soul sucker to electrical ground. The epithets just get sweeter and sweeter.
Things were always funnier when one was lying down.
The monkeys, she explained, were considered reincarnated politicians, which made Rue laugh and the stick entirely understandable.