I’m sure you’re already aware that you should never trust a gentleman who says you can trust him.
He was her other half, the spoon she was made to nestle into. They would be young together, and then they would grow old together. They would hold hands, and move to the country, and make lots and lots of babies.
There were a thousand ways to make an idiot of oneself, with new opportunities arising every day. It was exhausting trying to avoid them all.
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.
You sorts who excel at arithmetic simply don’t understand how we lesser mortals can look at a page of numbers and not know the answer – or at least how to get to the answer – instantly.
If you can throw it, I can catch it.
Mysterious creatures, women. If they could just learn to say what they meant, the world would be a far simpler place.
It was simple. His world was Kate. If he denied that, he might as well stop breathing right now.
It’s good that you can be horrid when necessary. It’s a useful skill.
Death wasn’t frightening to a man alone. The great beyond held no terror when one had managed to avoid attachments here on earth.
She simply wasn’t the sort of girl who attracted a man like him, and she feared that she never would be.
Men, she thought with disgust, were interested only in those women who terrified them.
As she spoke, she turned her face toward his, and in that instant, with the wind catching her hair and painting her cheeks pink, she looked so enchantingly lovely that Simon nearly forgot to breathe.
It occurred to Anthony that when she wasn’t arguing with him, Kate Sheffield might bloody well be the finest woman in England.
Simon groaned. “Do young ladies still need permission to waltz?
Where is he?” Violet demanded without preamble. “My husband, I presume?” “No, your great-uncle Edmund,” Violet practically snapped. “Of course I mean your husband.
Some people broke rules. Others merely wished to.
The topic of rakes has, of course, been previously discussed in this column, and This Author has come to the conclusion that there are rakes, and there are Rakes. Anthony Bridgerton is a Rake.
Was the world populated with blind men, or merely stupid ones?
He loved her. He worshipped her. He’d walk across fire for her.