If Rafe had drawn up a list of tasks at Phoebe’s age, he could only imagine it would have looked thusly: 1. Skip lessons. 2. Chase girls. 3. Any excuse for a fistfight. 4. Is that a squirrel? End of list.
Well, I don’t know how you propose to complete this bed without joining pieces together. Did you find a leaflet in the attic with instructions? In Swedish?
Absolutely not. We are not going into the water.” She lunged forward. They were going into the water.
Here is the point.” She stepped into his path, forcing him to meet her eyes. Man-eating sharks and all. “No one can be reduced to numbers in a ledger, or a stack of banknotes, or a single silver coin. We are humans, with souls and hearts and passion and love. Every last one of us is priceless. Even you.
Women are allowed to do one-tenth of what men may do, and yet we are scrutinized for it ten times as closely.
You know, you two have so much in common. You ought to be friends.” “We are nothing alike,” Ash sputtered. “No one could possibly confuse us,” Chase agreed. “Of course not,” Ash continued. “One of us is a repulsive monster, and the other was scarred at Waterloo.” She spoke over their protests. “You should see yourselves. You’re giving me identical scowls right this moment.” “I am not scowling,” the two men said. In unison. While scowling.
I mean it.” He held her off with an outstretched hand. “Don’t do it, Alex. Don’t try to hold me with my head in your lap, and kiss my tortured brow and stroke my hair, and tell me I’m blameless and misunderstood.” Her nose wrinkled. “I hadn’t intended to do any such thing.” “Oh,” he said. “Well, then. Good.” Damn.
How do you sleep at night?” His reply came just as she banged the door closed. “I don’t.
Ah, so you’re scared.” “I’m not scared.” “Of course you are. You’re human. We’re all scared, every last one of us. Afraid of life, of love, of dying. Maybe marching in neat rows all day distracts you from the truth of it. But when the sun goes down? We’re all just stumbling through the darkness, trying to outlast another night.” Colin downed another swig of wine, then stared at the bottle. “Excellent vintage. Makes me sound almost intelligent.
He took a draught of wine. “If you insist. I suppose we can converse as normal English people do. We’ll talk about the weather, or the latest horse race, or the weather, or the price of tea, and oh, did we happen to discuss the weather?
The soup smells divine,” she said. In the distance, she saw the duke motion to a footman. “You heard her. Pour Her Grace some more wine.
He still took her breath away. As he slid from his horse, he was magnificent. Resplendent. Without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. And then he spoke.
A small vibration of joy went through her. Two curt syllables of praise from him, and her heart thrummed like a dragonfly’s wings. Don’t, she bid it. Don’t you dare. Her heart didn’t listen to her – but then, it never did.
Please. I’ve promised Rosamund and Daisy. The girls will be so disappointed.” She’d promised them? Damn it. Broken promises were something he avoided at all costs. And the simplest way to avoid them was to not make any in the first place. Tonight he would give her a stern talking-to about making promises on his behalf. And perhaps a light spanking just to underscore the matter.
They just want your attention, can’t you see? Even if they have to tie you with ropes or douse you with water, or devise a different death for a doll every morning. Sometimes I think Daisy does it just for the excuse to hold your hand once a day. And you ought to see the way Rosamund looks at you when you’re too occupied to notice. She’d never admit it, but she’s desperate for your approval.” She reached for his hand. “Chase, they love you already.
Griff gripped his friend’s lapel, pulled him away from Pauline and lowered his voice to a growl. “I said, she’s mine.
Three years ago, there was a sordid, suspicious business with his cousin.” “I’d been wondering when we’d get to this.” Chase took a large swallow of brandy. “This is the good part. Pay attention.” Ash gave Chase an annoyed look. “Do you mind? We’re having a conversation here.
You’re being absurd.” He rose to his feet, pacing away. “There are fleas that jump from dog to dog with greater difficulty than your mind leaps from one conclusion to the next.
I’m afraid you’ll have to define these things if you want me to have any idea what you’re talking about. Alternatively, you can simply go on talking while I stare at your earlobe.” She blushed. “You needn’t trouble yourself.” “It’s no chore.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the window casing. “I’m a veritable connoisseur of earlobes, and yours is rather nice.
There was nothing like a sky full of stars to make a man reckon with his own humility.
One last thing,” she muttered as Rosamund reached for the door knocker. “If Lady Penelope Campion offers you a sandwich – you will eat it. And you will like it.” “Why does that sound like a threat?” She didn’t answer. He’d learn soon enough for himself.