It was needlepoint, Mr. Burke. Tapestries are woven, you see, and I find it far more satisfying to stab than to weave.
I think it a moral duty,” she said. “If one inherits the privilege of wealth, or of education or good family, one must use that privilege wisely. Men speak of progress like a machine, an engine that rolls forward without human direction, pulling everyone with it. But that isn’t true. If you read the newspapers” – the critical, adventurous, daring newspapers, not the conservative rags that her uncle favored – “it’s easy to see that many get left behind. Many, in fact, get crushed.
I will not endure a wife who tells me to go back to a mistress. I will not have a wife who refuses to demand explanations.
It’s a strange kind of torture,” he said quietly. “To be caged by the lowest expectations. A humiliation of the soul.
Oh, this was a terrible flaw in her, this need to interfere and manage and fix things.
We ladies are very devious, and could not speak plainly even if we had to spell every word.
Kinship is the work of coincidence, sweetheart. The only thing it truly engenders is proximity. And sometimes not even that, as plenty of the world’s bastards will be glad to tell you.” “What a cold sentiment! To whom do you owe loyalty, then, if not the man who fathered you?” He shrugged. “To those who have earned it. Friends of long standing, etcetera.
You don’t beg for anyone. For it never comes to good. Nothing’s worth that price. And I don’t mean the price is honor or pride. I mean, it’s got to do with knowing your own worth.
An illusion of control is still only an illusion.
His easy smile looked genuine. It made a dimple pop out in his right cheek, proof that preachers lied when they said God was just. Wasn’t any fairness in giving a man with money the sort of face this one was sporting.
He found himself staring at her, abruptly transfixed. Transformed, brain evacuated by a fierce, full-bodied, singular pulse of hunger. Christ. He had forgotten what desire felt like.
Villainy was not simply the red raging glory of inflicting well-deserved pain; it was also the curdling knowledge of having inflicted injustice. A villain simply did not care. Only the victims did.
After a moment, he murmured, “Emmaline. I am sorry. I am... overwrought.” His laughter was unsteady. “And there’s a phrase I’ve never used before. At least not in reference to myself.” An unwilling smile curved her mouth. “I hope you won’t swoon. I don’t carry smelling salts.” “No,” he said. “I wouldn’t have imagined you did.
Perhaps he was never himself but with her. Or rather, with her, he was more than himself.
Kindness never cost me a penny,” he said. “I see no need to hoard it.” She.
Shocking you? No. But here’s a promise: if I get you beneath me again, you’ll enjoy it even more. It’ll only get better, Kitty. Why, the fifth or sixth time, I expect I’ll make you come just by kissing your sweet little nipples. I’ll suck them slow and soft, and then hard. And when I use my teeth on you, the slightest scrape – ” “Stop.
That said, he also knows how to put his tongue to purposes more varied and rewarding than speech. 4.
The desire that moved him to it was not simply concerned with satisfaction. This hunger in him wanted to break her open so completely that she would never recover her reserve; that she would forget, for eternity, that once her body had been aught else but his. It was not an innocent craving. It was too near to violence for him to trust.
And now I should kiss you again, I think. Isn’t that how it’s done?” Startled, she put her hand to her lips. But their rough, cracked surfaces made the very prospect seem ludicrous. “Yes, I suppose – in a gothic romance. But if you kissed me now, no doubt my lip would split open, and I’d bleed on you.” His shout of laughter was quickly restrained. “Well, all right. Since you put it so romantically. Someplace else. Shall I be adventurous?
Every person was his own country, she thought, governed by a private language, a personal reason and custom.