Pretty,” she filled in. “You did give me that one compliment. You called me pretty.” “Well, I lied. I don’t find you pretty. I find you the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, inside and without.” “There was one more, if I recall.
This is property. Don’t you understand how rare that is for a woman? Property always belongs to our fathers, brothers, husbands, sons. We never get to own anything.” “Don’t tell me you’re one of those women with radical ideas.” “No,” she returned. “I’m one of those women with nothing. There are a great many of us.
She wants your secrets. She wants your soul. You’ve got to crack yourself open and find that broken, shameful piece of your heart that you’d hide from the world and God Himself if you could manage it. And then serve it up to her on a platter.
It was only a matter of time. She would love him before the week was out and it would be gloriously terrible, wonderfully hopeless.
I loved you with imprudent, reckless abandon. I loved you with all the heart and soul I knew how to command.
Why did men have to ruin everything? The answer was simple, she supposed – because foolish women gave them the chance.
I’m not interrogating him. I’m merely asking him questions.
Because your name should be on it. Because it’s damned tiresome being the one person alive who understands how truly remarkable you are.” He cupped her face in his hands, and not tenderly. “I won’t help you hide that from yourself, or from the world. Not anymore.
Susanna and Lord Rycliff had, in her observation, the ideal marriage. They understood one another, completely and implicitly. They disagreed and argued openly, demanded a great deal of each other and themselves, and they loved one another through it all. They were partners. Not just in love, but in life.
Because,” he said, “I like to know the names of the people I despise. I keep them in a little book and pore over it from time to time, whilst sipping brandy and indulging in throaty, ominous laughter.
It was one kiss. One kiss doesn’t change anything.” “Of course one kiss changes things. If it’s done right, a kiss changes everything. A kiss is the first step on a long, winding, quite perilous path of sensuality.
He’d imprisoned himself in this castle to rot. He’d cut off all contact with the outside world. And just when he thought he’d burned all his bridges, this woman – this impossible, sweet, foolish woman – arrived, determined to swim the moat. Breach his defenses. Make a home. Stay.
Confidence did more to enhance a woman’s beauty than any kohl or rouge could manage.
If I had your life story, it would be the first thing I mentioned to anyone. ‘Hullo, I’m Chase Reynaud. I learned to toddle aboard a merchant ship, and the Seven Seas rocked my cradle. And have I mentioned that no tropical sunset could compare with your beauty?’ The women would fall into bed with me.” “Don’t they fall into bed with you anyway?” “That’s true. But they might do so a half minute faster. Over months and years, those half minutes add up. So let’s hear the rest of the tale.
And while I’m on the subject, it’s inadvisable to wander the house at night in the home of a known rake. Your reputation could be compromised.” “I’m not worried. You said the thought of seducing me would never even cross your mind.” “Yes, but sometimes,” he murmured, “a man acts without thinking at all.
Most of the time, a girl needed to rescue herself.
People toss around the words ‘loyal’ and ‘kindhearted’ as though they’re common qualities. But they aren’t. They’re so rare.
Then he took that mental image and filed it away under Pleasant-Sounding Impossibilities. Right between “flying carriage” and “beer fountain.
He ducked, caught her by the legs, and threw her over his shoulder – with the ease of a man who’d tossed many a woman over his shoulder. This was definitely not his first go at lady-tossing.
I’ve even taught them a bit of French.” Chase read aloud from the board. “‘Donnez-nous le butin, ou nous vous ferons jeter par-dessus bord.’ What does that mean?” She hedged. “Hand over the booty, or you’ll walk the plank.