Sabrina Jeffries Quotes

So you find Miss Mercer beautiful?"
The buzzing in Spencer's head formed the words, "'She walks in beauty like the night/Of cloudless climes and starry skies.'"
"My God, now you're quoting poetry."
Had he said that aloud? Bloody hell. Spencer brandished his empty mug at his brother. "I always quote verse when I'm foxed."
"You must be very foxed to quote that idiot Byron. Or very impressed by Miss Mercer's looks.

The irony didn't escape her, that after years of reading with fascination about swindlers and cheats caught by the authorities, she should be the victim of one. Crime lost a great deal of its appeal when it happened to you.

The man is always the last to know when
Cupid has struck him
-Anonymous, Memoirs of a Mistress

No one in life can ever match fiction

We would never have tracked him down if you hadn't followed him."
"Or if Jane hadn't convinced Meredith to tell us where the house is," Tristan said. "Your fiancé is quite a woman."
"I know." And she never ceased to amaze him.

He's rumored to have more bravery than sense."
"Then he and Gabe make a good pair," Oliver growled.
"Lay off of him, will you?" Jarret told Oliver. Closest to being a blend of their parents, he had black hair but blue-green eyes and no trace of Oliver's Italian features. "You've been ragging him ever since that stupid carriage race. He was drunk. It's a state you ought to be familiar with."
Oliver whirled on Jarret. "Yes, but you were not drunk, yet you let him-"
"Don't blame Jarret," Gabe put in. "Chetwin challenged me to it. He would have branded me a coward if I'd refused."
"Better a coward than dead." Oliver had no tolerance for such idiocy. Nothing was worth risking one's life for-not a woman, not honor, and certainly not reputation. A pity that he hadn't yet impressed that upon his idiot brothers.
Gabe, of all people, ought to know better. The course he'd run was the most dangerous in London. Two large boulders flanked the path so closely that only one rig could pass between them, forcing a driver to fall back at the last minute to avoid being dashed on the rocks. Many was the time drivers pulled out too late.
The sporting set called it "threading the needle." Oliver called it madness.

Angel? Angels didn't sit on the lap of wicked scoundrels-not unless they were the fallen kind.

To my knowledge, none of them has ever taken advantage of a respectable female. Even my brothers had their...dalliances as bachelors."
"So did your father."
He would point that out. "That's different. Papa broke his marriage vows. That doesn't mean my suitors would do so." She swallowed. "Unless you think it impossible for a woman like me to keep men like them satisfied and happy?"
He started. "No! I wasn't trying to say...That is-"
"It's all right, Mr. Pinter," she said, fighting to keep the hurt out of her voice. "I know what you think of me."
His gaze locked with hers, confusing her with its sudden fierceness. "You have no idea what I think of you."
She twisted her bracelet nervously, and the motion drew his eyes down to her hands. But as his gaze came back up, it slowed, lingering on her bosom.
Could Mr. Pinter...Was it possible that he...
Certainly not! Proper Pinter would never be interested in a reckless female of her stamp. Why, he didn't even like her.
She'd dressed carefully today, hoping to sway him into doing her bidding by showing that she could look and act like a lady, hoping to gain a measure of his respect.
But the intimate way his gaze continued up past her bosom to her throat, and then paused again at her mouth, was more how her brothers looked at their wives. It wasn't so much disrespectful as it was...interested.
No, she must be imagining that. He was merely trying to make her uncomfortable; she was

If you'd convinced Nancy to marry you, you might not have had to go off to be a Bow Street runner. You could have had an easier life, a better life in high society than you could have had with me if you'd married me. Without being able to access my fortune, I could only have dragged you down."
"You don't really believe that I wanted to marry her for her money," he gritted out.
"It's either that or assume that you fell madly in love with her in the few weeks we were apart." They were nearly to the inn now, so she added a plaintive note to her voice. "Or perhaps it was her you wanted all along. You knew my uncle would never accept a second son as a husband for his rich heiress of a daughter, so you courted me to get close to her. Nancy was always so beautiful, so--"
"Enough!"
Without warning, he dragged her into one of the many alleyways that crisscrossed York. This one was deeply shadowed, the houses leaning into each other overhead, and as he pulled her around to face him, the brilliance of his eyes shone starkly in the dim light.
"I never cared one whit about Nancy."
She tamped down her triumph--he hadn't admitted the whole truth yet. "It certainly didn't look that way to me. It looked like you had already forgotten me, forgotten what we meant to each--"
"The hell I had." He shoved his face close to hers. "I never forgot you for one day, one hour, one moment. It was you--always you. Everything I did was for you, damn it. No one else."

Life is like an overgrown garden. You can spend your time cursing the weeds, or you can work to pull them out. In either case, the flowers are what matter.

Now that is a sword," Freddy said in awe as he went to look at an impressive saber hanging from the hat rack near the door.
"Stay away from it," she cautioned. "I'm sure it's sharper than yours."
As usual, Freddy ignored her. "Just think what I could do with this," he said as he lifted it off its hook.
"So far I haven't seen you do anything with a sword, my boy," Oliver remarked dryly. "Though I shudder to think what your cousin would attempt."
Maria glared at Oliver, which only made him laugh. Meanwhile, Freddy unsheathed the saber with a flourish.
"Curse it, Freddy, put it back," Maria ordered.
"What a fine piece of steel." Freddy swished it through the air. "Even the one Uncle Adam gave me isn't near so impressive."
Maria appealed to Oliver. "Do something, for pity's sake. Make him stop."
"And get myself skewered for the effort? No, thank you. Let the pup have his fun."
Freddy cast him a belligerent glance. "You wouldn't call me a pup if I came at you with this."
"No, I'd call you insane," Oliver drawled. "But you're welcome to try and see what happens."
Don't encourage him," Maria told Oliver.
The door opened suddenly, and Freddy whirled with the sword in hand, knocking a lamp off the desk. As the glass chimney shattered, spilling oil in a wide arc, the wick lit the lot, and fire sprang to life.
Maria jumped back with a cry of alarm while Oliver leaped out of his chair to stamp it out, first with his boots a

Looks like you've been busy," he said as he set down the pail to survey the room.
"You found water!"
"There was a stream close by." His gaze fixed on what she held in her hand. "I see you found my brandy."
Refusing to be embarrassed, she walked over to hand the flask to him. "I did indeed." She shot him a mischievous glance as he drank some. "Who would guess that the estimable Mr. Pinter, so high in the instep, drinks strong spirits?"
He scowled at her. "A little brandy on a cold day never hurt anyone. And I'm not high in the instep."
"Oh? Didn't you tell Gabe only last week that most lords were only good for redistributing funds from their estates into all the gaming hells and brothels in London, and ignoring their duty to God and country?"
When he flushed, she felt a twinge of conscience, but only a twinge. He looked so charming when he was flustered.
"I wasn't implying that your family…"
"It's all right," she said, taking pity on him. He had saved her life, after all. "You have good reason to be high in the instep. And you're not far wrong, in any case-there are many lords who are a blight upon society."
He was quiet a long moment. "I hope you realize that I don't think that of your brothers. Or your brother-in-law. They're fine men."
"Thank you."
Removing his surtout, he walked over to hang it on top of her cloak, then stood there warming his hands at the fire. "I wish I could say the same about your cousins.

Not until you eat."
"Oh, for God's sake, Aunt Ada-"
"None of that swearing, now. If you mean to be chosen as Chief Magistrate, you can't talk like a dockworker."
With a lift of his eyebrow, he held out his hand. "I won't be chosen as anything if I don't satisfy those who require my help."
"Humph. They can wait a few minutes." Her eyes glittered a warning. "I mean it. Don't make me throw these in the fire."
He flashed her his darkest scowl. "You wouldn't dare."
She set her shoulders. "Try me. And while those black looks of yours might intimidate criminals, they won't work on me. They didn't when you were ten, so they certainly won't now."
"Then I'll have to resort to force." He fought a smile as he stalked toward her. "I outweigh you by a good five stone. I could snatch those papers before you got anywhere near a fire."
"I could bash you over the head with a skillet, too."
The idea of his sweet-natured aunt bashing him over the head with anything made him laugh. He held up his hands. "Fine, I'll eat. But I must make it quick.

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I wish you'd tell the truth, but since I know that isn't preferable--"
"The truth is always preferable, my dear. It's just not always wise.

I won't remain in a marriage where you refuse to trust me, to take some chances for my sake.
Abigail Mercer

Good God, Miss Butterfield," Lord Jarret said. "Don't tell me you read Minerva's Gothic horrors."
"They're not Gothic horrors!" Maria protested. "They're wonderful books! And yes, I've read every single one, more than once."
"Well, that explains a few things," Oliver remarked. "I suppose I have my sister to thank for turning a sword on me at the brothel."
Lord Gabriel laughed. "You took a sword to old Oliver? Oh, God, that's rich!"
Lord Jarret sipped some wine. "At least the mystery of the 'weapons at her disposal' is now solved."
"He was misbehaving," Maria said, with a warning glance for Oliver. Did he want them to know everything, for pity's sake? "He left me no choice."
"Oh, Maria's always doing things like that," Freddy said through a mouth full of eel. "That's why we won't teach her to shoot. She always goes off half-cocked."
Maria thrust out her chin. "A woman has to stand up for herself."
"Hear, hear!" Lady Celia raised her goblet of wine to Maria. "Don't mind these clod-pates. What can you expect from a group of men? They would prefer we let them run roughshod over us."
"No, we wouldn't," Lord Gabriel protested. "I like a woman with a little fire. Of course, I can't speak for Oliver-"
"I assure you, I rarely feel the need to run roughshod over a woman," Oliver drawled. An arch smile touched his lips as his gaze locked with Maria's. "I've kissed one or two when they weren't prepared for it, but every man does that."

I'm the first man you saw today," he pointed out, "so I'm officially your valentine."
She let out a harsh laugh. "Because of a silly superstition? I think not."
"Because I want to be," he said in a low voice. "And because you want me to be, too."
Her gaze would have skewered a stone. "Want a drunken debaucher fresh from some whore's bed as my valentine? Not if you were the last man on earth."
She slammed the door in his face.
His brothers laughed, but he ignored them. He couldn't blame her for being angry; he'd given her good reason to be so.
But it didn't change a thing. He'd be damned if he let her go now. One way or the other, Maria Butterfield was going to be his. One way or the other, she would share his bed.

I can't imagine how I could help you in that regard, my lady."
The "my lady" particularly hurt. She'd thought that they'd moved past his acting like Proud Pinter, and her hurt made her peevish. "Well, you kept insisting when I hired you that there must be some suitable gentlemen out there who would marry me. So go find some, blast you. So far, all you've done is criticize the ones I found for myself."
He flashed her a small smile. "Excellent point."
"I know," she shot back.
Though now it occurred to her that his vehement protests over her choice of suitors were odd. Given his heated caresses yesterday, his behavior smacked of jealousy. So if he cared enough to be jealous of the other men, why didn't he care enough to court her himself?
I told her that there was nothing between us.
Was that just his way of soothing Grans fears and protecting his pride? Or had their encounter yesterday truly been only a dalliance?
"For a man whose task is to solve problems," she grumbled, "you create more than you solve."
"In my defense , I'm not used to matchmaking work," he pointed out.
"Clearly.

You needn't manhandle me," she hissed, though she didn't fight him.
"Trust me, Miss Butterfield, you'll know when I'm manhandling you." He stopped before a chair. "Sit," he commanded, pushing her into it. "And try to restrain your urge to attack people for half a moment, will you?"
"I was not-"
"As for you," he growled at her companion, "give me the satchel that caused all this furor."
"Yes, sir…I mean, my lord."
Oliver took the satchel from the young man, whose face was drained of all color. Clearly, he lacked his companion's fierceness.

Then he happened to glance at the viscount, and his blood stilled. The viscount's eyes followed Celia's every move, and his finger kept stroking his goblet as if he wanted to stroke some part of her.
Jackson gritted his teeth. No way in hell was he letting that bloody foreigner-or Devonmont, or even the duke-stroke anything of hers. "Are we going to stand around all day discussing which guns are more effective at killing," he snapped, "or are we actually going to kill something?"
Gabe exchanged a glance with his sister. "You're right. 'Prickly' is the word."
"Mr. Pinter is probably just eager to earn his kiss," Stoneville put in. "And given how the numbers stand right now, he may very well do so."
They all pivoted to look at his lordship.
Stoneville chuckled. "Devonmont has killed a pathetic eight brace of birds, Gabe a respectable fifteen, Basto an impressive seventeen and a half, Lyons an even more impressive nineteen, and Pinter an astonishing twenty brace. My sister is tied with him at twenty brace."
"Good show, Pinter!" Gabe said amiably. "You must beat her so none of us have to pay for a blasted rifle."
"Here now, Gabe," the duke cut in irritably, "I have as much chance of beating her as Pinter does. I'm only behind by one brace."
"I don't' care who beats her," Gabe said. "Just make sure one of you does, in case I can't catch up. She'll pick the most expensive gun in Manton's shop."
"You're such a pinchpenny, Gabe," Celia tea

Why would you think there was anything more between me and Mr. Pinter?
Because you blush when his name is mentioned. Because he follows you with his eyes. Because I do not know what to make of him, and that worries me.

Perhaps the wolf wasn't quite so dangerous as he pretended. Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out for sure - give him a little rope and see if he hung himself.
And pray that he didn't tie her up with it instead.

What really kept us apart for so long, what we both forgot, is that we are stronger together. Separately, we remember our weaknesses and our self-doubts and we falter.

Does that sort of blatantly lascivious glance generally sway women to jump into your bed?" she asked tartly.
"Often enough to make it worth the attempt.' He grinned. "Besides, it need only work occasionally. "a man must sleep sometime.

Oliver had been kind to her in many respects. He'd kept his word and hired Mr. Pinter. He'd offered to buy her gowns, and he'd treated Freddy with more indulgence than could be expected of any man.
But his actions in the carriage hadn't been a kindness. Because now she knew exactly what she'd be missing if she married Nathan and settled for his mild kisses.
As she went about the shop selecting gowns, she told herself that maybe passion could develop between two people over time. Maybe once she was married to Nathan, it would come out all right in the end.
Deep inside, however, in the naughty part of her that had reveled in Oliver's fervent kisses, she knew she was lying to herself. Because right now, the only man she ever wanted to kiss again was Oliver.

To have a goddess like you in his arms and not appreciate it…"
He kissed her, unable to resist the lush, succulent mouth so close to his. He put everything he felt into it, so he could wipe out any hurt the Neds of the world had given her.
When he broke away, realizing he was treading dangerous ground, she said hoarsely, "You weren't always so…appreciative. When I said that men enjoyed my company, you said you found that hard to believe."
"What?" he retorted with a scowl. "I never said any such thing."
"Yes, you did, the day that I asked you to investigate my suitors. I remember it clearly."
"There's no way in hell I ever…" The conversation came back to him suddenly, and he shook his head. "You're remembering only part, sweeting. You said that men enjoyed your company and considered you easy to talk to. It was the last part I found hard to believe."
"Oh." She eyed him askance. "Why? You never seem to have trouble talking to me. Or rather, lecturing me."
"It's either lecture you or stop up your mouth with kisses," he said dryly. "Talking to you isn't easy, because every time I'm near you I burn to carry you off to some secluded spot and do any number of wicked things with you."
She blinked, then gazed at him with such softness that at made his chest hurt. "Then why don't you?"
"Because you're a marquess's daughter and my employer's sister."
"What does that signify? You're an assistant magistrate and a famous Bow Street Runner-"

Suddenly he spotted Gran deep in conversation with Kitty's closest friend, and relief coursed through him. Gran would squelch the tale at once. And once she tried to quash the gossip, he would win-because he could then threaten to send notice to the papers of his betrothal if she didn't back down. She'd have no choice but to give up on her scheme.
Except…she wasn't acting as if she meant to squelch it. She was talking to the other woman with great animation. And when she met his gaze from across the room, beaming from ear to ear, he realized in a flash that he'd misunderstood everything. Everything.
She hadn't been bluffing him. All the rot about trying to buy Maria off, the disapproving looks and snide remarks…all along, Gran had been goading him toward what she wanted. God preserve him.
With a sickening sense of inevitability, he saw her go to the duchess's side and whisper a few words, then saw the duchess rise and tap her glass to indicate she had an announcement to make. With a triumphant smile, Gran announced the engagement of her grandson, the Marquess of Stoneville, to Miss Maria Butterfield of Dartmouth, Massachusetts.
All eyes turned to him, and the whispers began anew.
He couldn't believe it. How could he have been so blind? He'd lost the battle, maybe even the war.

Someone else was approaching, and Jackson was none too happy about it. He hadn't seen Devonmont since the house party and wouldn't mind never seeing the man again, but since Devonmont was his new sister-in-law's cousin, that was unlikely.
As the man neared them, Celia cast Jackson an assessing glance. "You do know he never meant a thing to me."
"That makes me only slightly less inclined to smash his face in."
"Jackson!" she said laughingly. "You would never do any such thing."
"Try me." He glanced at her. "Don't let this sober façade fool you, sweeting. When it comes to you, I can be as jealous as the next man."
"Well, you have no reason." She leaned up to kiss his cheek and whisper, "You're the only man I'll ever love."
He was still reveling in that remark when Devonmont reached them. "I take it this would not be a good time for me to kiss the bride?" he drawled.
Jackson glared at him.
"That's what I thought," Devonmont said, laughing. "But seriously, Pinter, you're a very lucky man."
"How well I know it," Jackson said.
"And I say most sincerely that your wife is a very lucky woman as well."
Jackson was taken aback. "Thank you, sir," he managed.
After Devonmont nodded and walked away, Celia said, "Surely that softens you toward him a little."
"Perhaps," Jackson conceded. "Though it's a good thing Lyons isn't here. I don't think I could be civil to both in one day.

Celia realized she'd shocked Mr. Pinter when his thick black brows drew together in a frown. His lean form seemed even more rigid than usual, and his angular features-the arrow of a nose and bladed jaw-even more stark. IN his severe morning attire of black serge and white linen, he radiated male disapproval.
But why? He knew she was the only "hellion" left unmarried. Did he think she would let her brothers and sisters lose their inheritance out of some rebellious desire to thwart Gran's ultimatum?
Of course he did. He'd been so kind and considerate during her recitation of the dream that she'd almost forgotten he hated her. Why else were his eyes, gray as slate after a storm, now so cold and remote? The blasted fellow was always so condescending and sure of himself, so...so...
Male.
"Forgive me, my lady," he said in his oddly raspy voice, "but I was unaware you had any suitors."
Curse him for being right. "Well, I don't...exactly. There are men who might be interested but haven't gone so far as to offer marriage." Or even to show a partiality to her.
"And you're hoping I'll twist their arms so they will?"
She colored under his piercing gaze. "Don't be ridiculous."
This was the Mr. Pinter she knew, the one who'd called her "a reckless society miss" and a "troublemaker."
Not that she cared what he thought. He was like her brother's friends, who saw her as a tomboy because she could demonstrate a rifle's fine qualities. And like Cous

Well, Edwin?" Jane asked anxiously. "Would he hurt her?"
Blakeborough squeezed Jane's shoulder, then left his hand resting there. That seemed remarkably intimate for a man who supposedly had only a platonic-sounding "arrangement" with her.
Dom tamped down his urge to go knock the earl's hand from here into the next county.

I can think of only one good solution to this dilemma," Diego said, having spent the entire night developing a plan.
You sneak into the school and carry her off?" Gaspar quipped.
That is the not-so-good solution. And it would be very difficult to sneak into a house full of women without raising an alarm."
A cloud descended on Gaspar's brow. "I was not serious. Kidnapping is not a choice.

No," she whispered. "No more."
His breath came hot and heavy against her ear as his arm crept back around her waist. "Why not?"
For a moment her mind was blank. What reason could she give that would make sense to him? If she protested that they weren't married, he would simply put an end to that objection by marrying her, and that would be disastrous.
Then she remembered Petey's plan. "Because I've already promised myself to another."
His body went still against hers. An oppressive silence fell over them both, punctuated only by the distant clanging of the watch bell. But he didn't move away, and at first she feared he hadn't heard her.
"I said - " she began.
"I heard you." He drew back, his face taught with suspicion. "What do you mean 'another?' Someone in England?"
She considered inventing a fiancé in London. But that would have no weight with him, would it? "Another sailor. I . . . I've agreed to marry one of your crew."
His expression hardened until it looked chiseled from the same oak that formed his formidable ship. "You're joking."
She shook her head furiously. "Peter Hargraves asked me to . . . to be his wife last night. And I agreed."
A stunned expression spread over his face before anger replaced it. Planting his hands on either side of her hips, he bent his head until his face was within inches from her. "He's not one of my crew. Is that why you accepted his proposal - because he's not one of my men? Or do you clai

But I'm not the only one to question your methods, am I? I gather that Miss Butterfield took issue with them as well."
He snorted. "That's putting it mildly."
His saucebox of a sister broke into a grin. "Ooh, what did she do while you were in that room alone? Do tell!"
"Not a chance. I don't need her teaching you any new tricks."
"You're no fun at all," she complained. "Well, I'm sure you deserved whatever she did. And that's my point: I rather like her. So it doesn't seem fair for her to be put in a situation where she could be-"
"Ruined by a scoundrel like me," he finished for her.
"Compromised," she corrected.

Once we've got you properly done up," her aunt said, "and he hears of your newfound wealth, he's sure to look your way again."
"I don't want him looking my way again. He was a pompous twit back then, and he's a pompous twit now."
"Respectable, God-fearing men sometimes are, dear.

It works far better," Jane went on, apparently still intent on berating him, "when you trust those people with the truth. When you give them all the facts."
Her tone put him on the defensive. "You mean, the way you did when you told me about Nancy's disappearance?"
Jane paled. "Well…that was different."
"How so?" He approached her with a scowl. "You left out the important fact that she might be pregnant. If I'd known, we would all have left for York as soon as Tristan could join us, and we wouldn't have wasted so much time."
Her throat moved convulsively. "You can't blame me for that. I was protecting Nancy."
"And all those years ago, I was protecting you," he said fiercely. He took another step toward her. "I know you resent how I manipulated you into jilting me, but my damned brother had just torn my family apart, and I wasn't sure what lay ahead of me. I couldn't bear to watch your love for me die in the slums of London."
"So you killed it instead?" she choked out.
His heart faltered. "Did I?"
Alarm spread over her face. Then she turned, as if to flee.
He grabbed her arm to tug her up close to him. She wouldn't look at him, which only inflamed him more. "I answered your questions," he rasped. "Now answer mine."
He could feel her tremble, see uncertainty flash over her face in profile. Utter silence reigned in the room. Even the servants had apparently finished in the dining room across the hall, for no sound penetrated thei

Perhaps everything was just as it appeared. Though the girl seemed to be up to something suspicious, it didn't seem to involve any deep feelings for Mr. Pinter.
Now if only she could be as sure about Mr. Pinter's feelings for Celia ...

The low thrum of Dom's voice sent her pulse into a dance. Devil take him! She'd just seen him last night; his mere voice shouldn't make her swoon, for pity's sake. It shouldn't make her remember the soft words he'd whispered as he'd caressed her and kissed her and swept her into madness ...
What was wrong with her? She wasn't letting that man sweep her anywhere, not as long as he only wanted to sweep her out of his way.
Now if only she could be sure why.
She strained to listen. For a while, the gentlemen were too intent on eating to say much of interest. But once the clink of silver ended and the clink of glasses began, their tongues loosened.
Thank heaven for brandy. She could smell it all the way over here.

To stop Maria before she ruined everything, he grabbed her about the waist, hauled her against him, and sealed his mouth to hers.
At first she seemed too stunned to do anything. When after a moment, he felt her trying to draw back from him, he caught her behind the neck with an iron grip.
"Oh," Gran said in a stiff voice. "Beg pardon."
Dimly he heard the door close and footsteps retreating, but before he could let Maria go, a searing pain shot through his groin, making him see stars. Blast her, the woman had kneed him in the ballocks!
As he doubled over, fighting to keep from passing out, she snapped, "That was for making me look like a whore, too!

But if her idiot suitors were staying at Halstead Hall with her, then by thunder, he'd be here, too. They wouldn't take advantage of her on his watch. "We're agreed that you won't do any of that foolish nonsense you mentioned, like spying on them, right?"
"Of course not. That's what I have you for."
Her private lackey to jump at her commands. He was already regretting this.
"Surely the gentlemen will accept the invitation," she went on, blithely ignoring his disgruntlement. "It's hunting season, and the estate has some excellent coveys."
"I wouldn't know."
She cast him an easy smile. "Because you generally hunt men, not grouse. And apparently you do it very well."
A compliment? From her "No need to flatter me, my lady," he said dryly. "I've already agreed to your scheme."
Her smile vanished. "Really, Mr. Pinter, sometimes you can be so..."
"Honest?" he prodded.
"Irritating." She tipped up her chin. "It will be easier to work together if you're not always so prickly."
He felt more than prickly, and for the most foolish reasons imaginable. Because he didn't like her trawling for suitors. Or using him to do it. And because he hated her "lady of the manor" role. It reminded him too forcibly of the difference in their stations.
"I am who I am, madam," he bit out, as much a reminder for himself as for her. "You knew what you were purchasing when you set out to do this."
She frowned. "Must you make it sound so sordid?"

And he was leveling the pistol on Gideon as if he itched to fire it. "What do you want with me? Is it gold you want?"
"There's only one thing I want of you, and that's Sara," Gideon said bluntly, ignoring the pistol. "I want my fiancé. Either you take me to her, or I hold you and your ship captive until you do."
"Or I could shoot you and your cursed pirates. Even now my men have yours under their guns and can pick them off at will if I command it."
Gideon sneered at him. "Barnaby!" he shouted. "How fare the earl's men and their guns?"
Barnaby and the other fifteen men emerged from behind the forward house, pushing a group of disarmed and disgruntled sailors ahead of them. "Oh, they fare quite well, Captain. As for their guns, let's just say we've added to our arsenal substantially today.

How did you find me, anyway?"
"We went to your office, and your butler told us you had left to come here." She laughed, remembering it. "Max said, 'What, already?' and Mr. Shaw said, rather loftily, that you could 'wait for no man's leisure' and 'tend on no man's business.' I gather that the man is as fond of Much Ado about Nothing as we are."
"Oh, he likes them all," Dom said dryly. "Too many years spent as a bit player in the theater, I'm afraid. He keeps hoping that if he memorizes every play in existence, he will advance to a lead role." He fastened his trousers. "But how did you even get away from your uncle and Blakeborough? They just let you ride off after me with Max and Lisette?"
"Well, Blakeborough had no choice since I had just jilted him." She sighed. "Oh, Lord. I have once again jilted a fiancé, haven't I? I'm forever going to be known as the woman who jilted two men." She made a face. "I should have calling cards made--'Jane the Jilt,' to go along with 'Dom the Almighty.'"
"I will never carry a card with the appellation 'Dom the Almighty,' so just put that right out of your head," he said irritably. "In any case, since you're marrying me, I'm no longer jilted." He paused a moment to shoot her a wary glance. "You are marrying me, aren't you?"
That was even closer to asking. "Say 'please,'" she teased.
Though he eyed her askance, he pulled her close for a long, lingering kiss, then said, "Please, Jane, will you marry me?"
She bea

Until that moment, he hadn't been sure he would prevail. Any woman brave enough to thrust a blade at him was unpredictable at best, and dangerous at worst.

In other words, you'll pretend to be someone else in order to snag a husband."
"Oh, for heaven's sake," she said defensively, "it's no different than what half the women in society do to catch a man. I don't want to waste my time in pointless flirtation when a little knowledge will improve my aim on the targets."
He flashed her a condescending smile.
"What is it?" she snapped.
"Only you would approach courtship as a marksman approaches a shooting match." He licked the tip of his pencil. "So who are these hapless targets?"
"The Earl of Devonmont, the Duke of Lyons, and Fernandez Valdez, the Viscount de Basto."
His jaw dropped. "Are you insane?"
"I know they're rather beyond my reach, but they seem to like my company-"
"I daresay they do!" He strode up to her, strangely angry. "The earl is a rakehell with a notorious reputation for trying to get beneath the skirts of every woman he meets. The duke's father was mad, and it's said to run in his family, which is why most women steer clear of him. And Basto is a Portuguese idiot who's too old for you and clearly trawling for some sweet young thing to nurse him in his declining years."
"How can you say such things? The only one you know personally is Lord Devonmont, and you barely know even him."
"I don't have to. Their reputations tell me they're utterly unacceptable."
Unacceptable? Three of the most eligible bachelors in London? Mr. Pinter was mad, not her. "Lord Devonmont is

Wait, were you eavesdropping on my conversation with the duke? That's very rude."

"Is it? Half of the plays in the world contain eavesdropping. I assumed it was a common practice.

Believing in love isn't like believing in flying reindeer. It's like believing in rain. Or summer. Or Christmas. Love is real and steady and absolutely essential to any kind of life. Not believing in it doesn't make it any less so.

And you must appear willing to marry me," Oliver said.
"I understand."
"Do you? It means you'll have to act as if you enjoy my company."
To his surprise, a small smile curved her lips. "I believe I can manage that." Then, as if realizing she was softening, she wiped the smile from her face. "But you must behave responsibly, too."
"By not trying to seduce you, you mean."
She started. "No! I mean, yes…I mean, you already said you have more urgent concerns." Alarm rose in her cheeks. "Oh dear, I forgot that you also said you have no honor or morals."
He'd made similar assertions half his life, yet tonight he regretted making them. Shocking young ladies seemed to have lost some of its appeal.
"All the same, Miss Butterfield, I promise that your virtue is safe from me." When she looked skeptical, he added, "You're not the sort of woman I prefer." A respectable woman came with strings attached.
"Of course I'm not," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Anyone can see that."
That took him aback.
She went on. "A man with no morals isn't going to want a woman who has them. She'd never let him do anything wicked."
Freddy coughed, as if choking on something. Oliver understood why. Miss Butterfield had an unnerving way of cutting everything down to its essence.
"Yes," he said, for lack of a better response. "Quite." Then he narrowed his gaze on her. "So what did you mean when you said I had to 'behave responsibly'?"
"You prom

Oh, blast, this is all so confusing!" she complained. "How is a woman supposed to figure out what a man really wants?"
"If you learn the answer to that question, do be a dear and tell the rest of us," Minerva quipped. "Though as far as I can tell, men are simple creatures, for all their posturing. They want food, drink, and a wench to bed, not necessarily in that order."
"And love?" Celia asked.
Minerva smiled. "That, too. Some men do, anyway. You'll just have to spend some time with Mr. Pinter and find out if that's what he wants from you."
"And how on earth am I supposed to spend time with him when he's been avoiding me ever since the last time we kissed?"
"Perhaps he's worried about the difference in your stations."
"That didn't keep him from kissing me." She scowled. "Besides, you've heard what he says about our sort. If anything, he thinks himself above us, not below us. He didn't even ask me to dance tonight! He could have. No one would have thought anything of that. Instead, he spent the entire ball standing about, looking disappointed, and talking to servants."
"Perhaps because you spent the entire ball in the company of your suitors."
Celia released an exasperated breath. "What else was I supposed to do? I'm not allowed to ask a man to dance. And at least I know what my suitors want. Lord Devonmont wants to seduce me, the viscount wants peace in his old age, and the duke wants to marry me. I don't have any idea what Jackson wan

You were never as much to blame as you thought," she told him softly.
A brief smile touched his lips. "That's what you say. But you're biased."
She shrugged. "Maybe a little. But I would never have agreed to marry you if I'd thought you capable of real wickedness. I wouldn't have risked having a child of mine suffer the same torments you and your siblings suffered."
Oliver went still. "And does this sudden mention of some future child have anything to do with your sneaking out of the house to consult with a physician this morning?"
She gaped at him. "You knew? How did you find out?"
"Believe me, angel, I know whenever you leave my bed." His eyes gleamed at her. "I feel the loss of it right here." He struck his heart dramatically.
"Aunt Rose spoke the truth about you," she grumbled. "You are a smooth-tongued devil. And apparently you read minds, as well."
He chuckled. "Your aunt simply cannot keep secrets. But to be honest, it's not been hard to notice how little interest you show in your breakfast these days, and how often you like to nap. I know the signs of a woman with child. I watched my mother go through them with four children."
"And here I was hoping to surprise you," she said with a pout. "I swear you are impossible to surprise."
"That's only because you used up all your surprises in the first hour of our meeting."
"How so?"
"By boldly threatening me with Freddy's sword. And by agreeing to my insane proposal. Then

I don't want to be the river anymore. I want to be the earth that the tree roots in. And I believe that I can, if you'll be my tree. Will you?

I didn't choose to be the Angel of Death, blast it!" He practically spat the words. When she blinked, taken aback by his vehemence, he added, "That was some fool's idea of a joke"
She kept staring at him, speechless. A joke? Her brother's death was a joke to someone?
Seeing her reaction, he went on in a low, tortured voice, "After Roger's accident, I wore black to mourn him. Since Roger wasn't my family, Chetwin commented on it, saying that I dressed in black because Death was my constant companion. He pointed out that everyone I touched died
my parents, my best friend ... everyone."
He began to pace the clearing, pain etched in his features. "Chetwin was right, of course. Death was my constant companion. So it was no great surprise when other people started calling me the Angel of Death." His voice grew choked. "I fit the part, after all."
-Gabriel to Virginia

You and I both know that Lord Stoneville sees me only as a means to an end."
"That's not true," Freddy said earnestly. "I've seen how he looks at you. It's how I look at the last bit of bacon on the serving plate. He likes you."
"Don't be absurd."
"And you like him, too."
She let out a shuddering breath. "I like Nathan."
"But if Mr. Pinter doesn't find Nathan-"
"Then we'll go home and hope Nathan doesn't take too long in returning."
"You could marry Lord Stoneville," Freddy said.

We have to find a way to push them together," Minerva said. "You know perfectly well that if Oliver marries, Gran will forget this ridiculous idea of hers about the rest of us marrying. She just wants him to produce an heir"
Hetty's eyebrows shot high. Her granddaughter had a big surprise coming down the road.
"And you're willing to throw him under the wheels of the coach to save yourself, is that it?" Jarret quipped.
"No!" Her voice softened. "You and I both know he needs someone to drag him out of himself. Or he's just going to get scarier as he gets older." She paused. "Did you tell him about Miss Butterfield's being an heiress?"
That certainly arrested Hetty's attention. She hadn't dreamed that the girl had money.
"Yes, but I fear that might have been a mistake-when I suggested that he marry her for her fortune, he got angry."
Of course he got angry, you fool, Hetty thought with a roll of her eyes. Honestly, did her grandson know nothing about his brother?
"For goodness sake, Jarret, you weren't supposed to suggest that. You were supposed to get him concerned that she might fall prey to fortune hunters."
At least Minerva had a brain.
"Damn," Jarret said. "Then I probably shouldn't have exaggerated the amount."
"Oh, Lord." Minerva sighed. "By how much?"
"I kind of…tripled it."
Minerva released an unladylike oath. "Why did you do that? Now he won't go near her. Haven't you noticed how much he hates talk of marrying

I also heard that Lord Maxwell keeps a goat in his bedchamber, but you don't see me sending someone to milk it. One mustn't let idle gossip govern one's actions.

I don't…believe you," she lied, her blood running wild through her veins.
His gleaming gaze impaled her. "Then believe this." And suddenly his mouth was on hers.
This was not what she'd set out to get from him.
But oh, the joy of it. The heat of it. His mouth covered hers, seeking, coaxing. Without breaking the kiss, he pushed her back against the wall, and she grabbed for his shoulders, his surprisingly broad and muscular shoulders. As he sent her plummeting into unfamiliar territory, she held on for dear life.
Time rewound to when they were in her uncle's garden, sneaking a moment alone. But this time there was no hesitation, no fear of being caught.
Glorying in that, she slid her hands about his neck to bring him closer. He groaned, and his kiss turned intimate. He used lips and tongue, delving inside her mouth in a tender exploration that stunned her. Enchanted her. Confused her.
Something both sweet and alien pooled in her belly, a kind of yearning she'd never felt with Edwin. With any man but Dom.
As if he sensed it, he pulled back to look at her, his eyes searching hers, full of surprise. "My God, Jane," he said hoarsely, turning her name into a prayer.
Or a curse? She had no time to figure out which before he clasped her head to hold her for another darkly ravishing kiss. Only this one was greedier, needier. His mouth consumed hers with all the boldness of Viking raiders of yore. His tongue drove repeatedly inside in a rhythm th

To be fair, if we had married then, who knows what would have become of us? I doubt I would have liked your running about the country as a spy, leaving me alone for weeks at a time. And I daresay you would have had trouble concentrating on your work for worrying about me."
His grateful smile showed that he appreciated her attempt to mitigate his betrayal.
"Of course, later you could have…well…come after me. Once you established your business. While I was still un-betrothed. Why didn't you?"
"I don't suppose you would accept rampant idiocy as a reason?"
"I would…if I really thought it were the reason." When he stiffened, she added archly, "You aren't generally an idiot. Daft and a tad overbearing, yes, but not an idiot."
A sigh escaped him. He leaned past her to pull the curtain open just enough so he could keep an eye on the street.
When it looked as if he might not answer, she added, "Tristan thinks you didn't come after me because you were afraid that I couldn't love you."
He cast her a startled glance. "You told Tristan the truth about us?"
She winced. "And Lisette and Max. Sorry. Tristan sort of…forced it out of me."
"Well, that explains why Max and Lisette were willing to bring you here in the midst of such a crucial investigation. They've been pressing me for a long time to give you another chance. Because they thought you betrayed me."
Grabbing her hands, he gazed down at them with a haunted look. "And I suppose there's

I'm investigating Lady Celia's potential suitors."
"Oh," she said in a small voice.
He glanced at her, surprised to find her looking stricken. "What's wrong?"
"I didn't know she had suitors."
"Of course she has suitors." Not any he could approve of, but he wasn't about to mention that to his aunt. "I'm sure you read about her grandmother's ultimatum in those reports you transcribed. She has to marry, and soon, too."
"I know. But I was rather hoping...I mean, with you there so often and her being an unconventional sort..." When he cast her a quizzical look, she went on more forcefully, "There's no reason you couldn't offer for her."
He nearly choked on his bread. "Are you out of your mind?"
"She needs a husband. You need a wife. Why not her?"
"Because marquess's daughters don't marry bastards, for one thing."
The coarse word made her flinch. "You're still from a perfectly respectable family, no matter the circumstances of your birth." She eyed him with a sudden gleam in her eye. "And I notice you didn't say you weren't interested."
Hell. He stopped up from gravy with his bread. "I'm not interested."
"I'm not saying you have to be in love with her. That would perhaps be asking too much at this point, but if you courted her, in time-"
"I would fall in love? With Lady Celia? That isn't possible."
"Why not?"
Because what he felt for Celia Sharpe was lust, pure and simple. He didn't even know if he wanted to fall

Um, I think I left my handkerchief on the table," Jane said. "I'll just run down and fetch it. There's no need to wait for me--you go on to bed."
Lisette stopped to stare at her in bewilderment. "Your handkerchief will be perfectly fine where it is. A footman will find it and give it to you in the morning."
"No, I dare not leave it or I'll forget about it in the confusion of our departure." She was already turning to descend the stairs. "And it's my favorite."
Jane didn't stop to see if Lisette believed that nonsense. She just hastened down, trying to figure out how to get Dom alone.
Fortunately, just as she approached the dining room, she heard the duke say from inside, "Sorry to be a wet blanket, old chap, but I shall turn in, too. Lisette and I don't usually rise as early as we did this morning."
"So I've noticed." Then Dom added hastily, "Not that it matters, mind you. Everyone has his own habits."
"Yes, that's true." The duke's puzzled tone showed he was unaware of what his wife had said yesterday about his "habits."
"Don't forget that we must leave as early tomorrow as possible."
"Of course."
"I'm hoping Tristan will have arrived by then, but if not, we'll press on without him."
"Certainly," Max said, rather stiffly now. He probably wasn't used to being ordered about by anyone, even his brother-in-law. "Well, good night, then."
Hearing footsteps approaching, Jane darted quickly into an alcove and waited with heart p

Thank you for the advice, but I know how to comport myself with Maria."
"That remains to be seen." Jarret rose, then bent to plant his hands on the desk. "But know this-none of us will stand by and let you ruin a young woman just to provoke Gran."
Oliver shot to his feet. That his brother thought him capable of such a thing infuriated him, as did being lectured by him. It had never happened before, and he wasn't about to allow it now.
Leaning forward until he and Jarret were eye to eye over the desk, he growled, "And what the deuce do you think you can do to stop me from acting as I please?"
A grim smile touched Jarret's lips. "I could attempt to steal her from you."
Somewhere in the recesses of his sanity, Oliver knew he was being baited, yet it made no difference. Just the idea of Jarret seeking to engage Maria's affections crushed his usual control.
"If you lay a hand on her," he ground out, "Gabe won't be the only one wearing a sling in this family."
With an enigmatic look, Jarret pushed back from the desk. "Fine." His eyes turned to ice. "But be warned-the rest of us intend to make sure that you never lay a hand on her, either." Without waiting for a response, he strode from the room.

If we don't get a good day's work out of you, we'll maroon you.
He ignored Barnaby's raised eyebrow. They'd never marooned anybody before, even the English nobles they hated, but Gideon meant to put the fear of God into the man.

I no longer require your services." With her head held high, she strode for the door.
Hell and blazes, he wouldn't let her do this! Now when he knew what was at stake.
"You don't want to hear my report?" he called out after her.
She paused near the door. "I don't believe you even have a report."
"I certainly do, a very thorough one. I've only been waiting for my aunt to transcribe my scrawl into something decipherable. Give me a day, and I can offer you names and addresses and dates, whatever you require."
"A day? Just another excuse to put me off so you can wreak more havoc." She stepped into the doorway, and he hurried to catch her by the arm and drag her around to face him.
He ignored the withering glance she cast him. "The viscount is twenty-two years your senior," he said baldly.
Her eyes went wide. "You're making that up."
"He's aged very well, I'll grant you, but he's still almost twice your age. Like many vain Continental gentlemen, he dyes his hair and beard-which is why he appears younger than you think."
That seemed to shake her momentarily. Then she stiffened. "All right, so he's an older man. That doesn't mean he wouldn't make a good husband."
"He's an aging roué, with an invalid sister. The advantages in a match are all his. You'd surely end up taking care of them both. That's probably why he wants to marry you."
"You can't be sure of that."
"No? He's already choosing not to stay here for the house part

He tore his mouth from her eager lips to whisper, "Juliet…ah, sweeting…"
Only he had ever called her sweeting. "Morgan…" she whispered back.
He froze. Jerking back from her, he stared uncomprehending into her eyes. Then his face drained of heat as suddenly as hot iron dunked in water. He dropped his hands from her. "What the devil am I doing? I must be mad…"
Pivoting away, he leaned over to brace his fists on the table. His shoulders shook from the force of his sharp, heavy breaths.
"Morgan?" She stepped forward to lay her hand on his back.
He flinched at her touch. "Don't ever call me that again. Call me Sebastian or Lord Templemore, but never Morgan. I'm not him!" He whirled to face her once more. His haunted eyes gleamed in the dimness, and his features were twisted into anger. "I think I've proved that sufficiently."
His denial struck a dagger to her heart, and she began to tremble. Surely, he didn't mean to continue in his lies after what they'd just shared. How could he? "Please, Morgan, don't-"
"I'm not Morgan!" He glanced away. "I'm not." Only his shaky hand shoving his beautiful, thick hair from his face belied his seeming control. "And another thing: no woman ruined by a man waits two years to hunt him down when her family is spoiling for vengeance. She doesn't hide the truth from them, and she doesn't come in secret to accuse her supposed debaucher."
His gaze swung back to her as he dropped his voice. "She certainly doesn't l

If Dom has taught me anything, it's that given the choice between a marriage of convenience and no marriage at all, I would choose the latter."
"But what you're really angling for is a marriage for love." When she cast him a sad smile, Edwin rolled his eyes. "You and Yvette are both cloyingly romantic."
"Which is probably why neither of us has managed to gain a husband.

Speaking of shooting, my lady," Mr. Pinter said as he came around the table, "I looked over your pistol as you requested. Everything seems to be in order."
Removing it from his coat pocket, he handed it to her, a hint of humor in his gaze. As several pair of male eyes fixed on her, she colored. To hide her embarrassment, she made a great show of examining her gun. He'd cleaned it thoroughly, which she grudgingly admitted was rather nice of him.
"What a cunning little weapon," the viscount said and reached for it. "May I?"
She handed him the pistol.
"How tiny it is," he exclaimed.
"It's a lady's pocket pistol," she told him as he examined it.
Oliver frowned at her. "When did you acquire a pocket pistol, Celia?"
"A little while ago," she said blithely.
Gabe grinned. "You may not know this, Basto, but my sister is something of a sharpshooter. I daresay she has a bigger collection of guns than Oliver."
"Not bigger," she said. "Finer perhaps, but I'm choosy about my firearms."
"She has beaten us all at some time or another at target shooting," the duke said dryly. "The lady could probably hit a fly at fifty paces."
"Don't be silly," she said with a grin. "A beetle perhaps, but not a fly." The minute the words were out of her mouth, she could have kicked herself. Females did not boast of their shooting-not if they wanted to snag husbands.
"You should come shooting with us," Oliver said. "Why not?"
The last thing she n

Foreign, eh?" Hetty frowned. "Then I am glad Mr. Pinter is looking into his background. You have to be careful with foreigners."
"Right. I wouldn't want to rush into marriage with a stranger," Celia said tartly. "Oh, wait, yes, I would. My grandmother has dictated that I must."
Hetty stifled a smile. "Sarcasm does not become you, dear girl."
"Draconian ultimatums don't become you, Gran."
"Complain if you must, but I still mean to see you married by year's end.

Dom, are you out here?" called a voice from somewhere beyond the stables.
Damn it all. It was Tristan.
Swiftly Dom donned his shirt. "Be quiet," he whispered to Jane, "and he'll go away."
Tristan's voice sounded again, even nearer now. "I swear to God, Dom, if you ride off to London in the dark and make a liar out of me before Ravenswood, I will kick you from here to France!"
"He won't go away," Jane whispered back, a hint of desperation in her voice. "He promised Ravenswood that you wouldn't head for London with broken carriage lamps, and now he'll want to make sure that you don't."
Which meant his arse of a brother wasn't going to stop looking for him. Any minute now, he'd be striding into the harness room.
Then Jane would have to marry Dom.
As soon as the thought entered Dom's head, it apparently occurred to her, too, for she paled and stepped near enough to whisper, "Please. Not like this."
He stared at her ashen face, and his stomach sank. He couldn't force her to wed him. After what had happened between them years ago, she would never forgive him for taking her choice away from her yet again.
Besides, he didn't want to force her into anything. The only way he could prove that he didn't intend to run roughshod over her for the rest of their lives was to walk away now. Even if it killed him.
Bloody hell. "I'll draw Tristan away from the stables," Dom said tersely as he shoved his stocking feet into his boots. "That will g

Because you deserve a duke, damn it!" A troubled expression furrowed his brow. "You deserve a man who can give you the moon. I can't. I can give you a decent home in a decent part of town with decent people, but you…" His voice grew choked. "You're the most amazing woman I've ever known. It destroys me to think of what you'll have to give up to be with me."
"I told you before-I don't care!" she said hotly. "Why can't you believe me?"
He hesitated a long moment. "The truth?"
"Always."
"Because I can't imagine why you'd want me when you have men of rank and riches at your fingertips."
She gave a rueful laugh. "You grossly exaggerate my charms, but I can't complain. It's one of many things I adore about you-that you see a better version of me than I ever could." Remembering the wonderful words he'd said last night when she'd been so self-conscious, she left the bed to walk up to him. "Do you know what I see when I look at you?"
His wary gaze locked with hers. "Proper Pinter. Proud Pinter."
"Yes, but that's just who you show to the world to protect yourself." She reached up to stroke his cheek, reveling in the ragged breath that escaped him. "When you let down your guard, however, I see Jackson-who ferrets out the truth, no matter how hard. Who risks his own life to protect the weak. Who'd sacrifice anything to prevent me from having to sacrifice everything."
Catching her hand, he halted its path. "You see a saint," he said hoarsely. "I'm n

We have a deal."
"The hell you do!" Maria cried out, dashing into the room. She barely noticed that the others stayed behind in the hall.
Nathan looked disconcerted by her appearance, and Oliver looked alarmed. "Leave this to me, Maria," he said tersely.
"The only way that scoundrel is getting your mother's pearls," she shot back," is if I strangle him with them." She marched up and snatched the box from Nathan. "Besides, you already have them to me."
"And you left them behind," Oliver reminded her. "Gran said you refused to keep them."
"Well, I want them now."
"At the risk of being dragged through the courts?" he said, coming to her side. "Of having your name maligned by this vermin?" He lowered his voice. "Do you really want him examining every action you've taken in the past two weeks, having it all laid out before a judge?"
She could tell he was thinking of her appearance at the brothel and the unpleasantness there, not to mention her public betrothal to him. "Let him do his worst." She had an ace in the hole.
She was about to call for Miss Kinsley when Oliver said, "Hyatt won't let go of this matter without some financial consideration. With 125,000 pounds at stake-"
Nathan's bark of laughter cut him off. "Is that what she's told you her half of the company is worth, Lord Stoneville?" Nathan sneered. "Now I understand why a marquess is sniffing around her."
Oliver's eyes turned a dangerous shade of black. He seized the ma

"The" title="Sabrina Jeffries Quotes: We have a deal."
"The" width="913px" height="515px" loading="lazy"/>

This was certainly a fitting end to Valentine's Day." She slanted him a glance. "Tell me, was it really just chance that you drew my name at the ball?"
"What do you think?"
"I don't know. Celia told me on the way home that she thought it was Fate."
He arched one eyebrow. "Only if Fate's helper is the Duke of Foxmoor. He rigged the drawing for me."
To his surprise, she laughed. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself! I thought perhaps you'd spotted my name by chance, but deliberately cheating…You have no principles whatsoever, do you?"
"Not where you're concerned," he said.
That answer seemed to please her. Reassured of her ability to bewitch him, she stretched beside him like a cat, her full breasts moving enticingly under the sheet.
It roused him instantly. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, my dear."
"Do what?" Her gaze was full of curiosity.
"Display yourself so deliciously. Or I'm going to make love to you again."
A coy smile tipped up her lips. "Are you really?" She slid up next to him, her hand drawing a line down his bare chest in a motion worthy of the most experienced courtesan.
He caught her hand. "I mean it, minx. Don't tempt me. I'll have you on your back so fast you won't know what happened."
"And what would be wrong with that?"
He entwined his fingers with hers. Why couldn't he stop touching her? "It was your first time. Your body needs to rest."
"Oh." She frowned. "I suppose I am a little sore.

Don't be a coward, driving away anyone who cares enough to see you for yerself. It's easy to live yer life alone, son. It takes courage to live with another. But in the end, yer life can be so much richer for it

Jane," he rasped as his strokes grew frenzied. "It's always ... been you. Only you."
"Only you," she echoed.
She'd been fooling herself about Edwin. There had only ever been one man in her heart. And as he drove himself deep inside her, he sent her vaulting into the sun.
When he followed her into the bliss, she clutched him close to her chest and prayed that he would let her inside his heart as deeply as she'd let him into hers. That she wasn't making a mistake by taking up with him again.
Because it was too late to go back now. This time, he had her for better or worse.

She realized she'd been staring only when he said, his voice lower and huskier, "Who are you looking for?"
His words snapped her out of her terrible trance. "I ... I ... " she thought furiously and said the only thing that came to mind. "For you. I was looking for you."
Suspicion flashed in his sea-blue eyes. "In the rigging?"
"Yes. Why not?"
"Either you're very ignorant about what a captain does, or you're lying. Why is it?"
Ignoring the plummeting sensation in her stomach, she forced a smile to her face. "Really, Gideon, you are so suspicious. Last night you accused me of plotting behind your back, and this morning you accuse me of lying. Who else would I be looking for but you?

Hetty was awakened from a doze in a chair by the sound of a door opening. She was about to make herself known to whoever had entered the library when someone else entered, too, and she heard Minerva say, "Well? What do you think? Am I right about Oliver and Miss Butterfield?"
Shrinking into the chair, she prayed she wouldn't be noticed in the corner.
"It certainly looks that way." It was Jarret's voice. "He does seem to have genuine feelings for her. I've never witnessed him act like that over a woman. You should have seen him-ready to strike me when I suggested going after her myself."
"What a brilliant touch!" Minerva cried. "I told you he liked her. And I'll hazard a guess that she likes him, too. I went up to her room after they got back, and she blushed furiously when I asked if Oliver had behaved himself."
"That's the problem. Liking her is one thing, but whether he'll act on the attraction honorably is another matter entirely. Oliver isn't used to being around a woman he's not allowed to…er…"
"Take to bed."
Hetty blinked.
"My God, Minerva, don't say things like that! You're not supposed to know about such matters."
"Pish posh. I could hardly grow up with a rogue for a father and three rogue brothers without hearing a few things."
Hetty had to chomp on the inside of her cheek to stifle her laugh.
"Well, at least pretend you don't know, will you?" Jarret grumbled. "One day you'll say something like that in public and give

Mother nature is a fickle and forgetful bitch," she snapped. "She needs a helping hand and I am trying to hurry her along for their sake.

You can never know too much about writing. If you think you know everything, you're not leaving yourself open to learn ... The best writers are always learning, exploring, and trying to improve.

Hatred only hurts the hater. It does nothing to affected the hated.

Has it ever occurred to you that married couples endure watching their spouses grow old and feeble and senile all the time? That it's part of marriage? A hard part, to be sure, but not so hard that one just gives up on the institution altogether.

We've known his family forever. He doesn't seem to care about the scandal in ours, and he's an excellent shot-"
"That would certainly be at the top of my list of requirements for a husband," Minerva broke in, eyes twinkling. "'Must be able to hit a bull's-eye at fifty paces.'"
"Fifty paces? Are you mad? It would have to be a hundred at least."
Her sister burst into laughter. "Forgive me for not knowing what constitutes sufficient marksmanship for your prospective mate." Her gaze grew calculating. "I heart that Jackson is a very good shot. Gabe said he beat everyone today, even you."
"Don't remind me," Celia grumbled.
"Gabe also said he won a kiss from you."
"Yes, and he gave me a peck on the forehead," Celia said, still annoyed by that. "As if I were some…some little girl."
"Perhaps he was just trying to be polite."
Celia sighed. "Probably.
I didn't kiss you "properly" today because I was afraid if I did I might not stop.
"The thing is…" Celia bit her lower lip and wondered just how much she should reveal to her sister. But she had to discuss this with someone, and she knew she could trust Minerva. Her sister had never betrayed a confidence. "That wasn't the first time Jackson kissed me. Nor the last."
Minerva nearly choked on her chocolate. "Good Lord, Celia, don't say such things when I'm drinking something hot!" Carefully she set her cup on the bedside table. "He kissed you?" She seized Celia's free hand. "More than o

Jane felt limp and sated and thoroughly wicked as she snuggled against Dom. They were still joined below, though he'd begun to soften inside her. Still, how naughty it was to be here like this, how deliciously carnal to have made love while they were both half-dressed. Why, Dom still even wore his cravat! She didn't know why that excited her, though it did.
But not as much as Dom saying "please" over and over. Letting her take control of their lovemaking. Even encouraging her to do it.
And not nearly as much as Dom asking her to marry him.
Well, he didn't really ask, exactly. He demanded it yet again. But he'd said "please," and that made all the difference. Especially since he'd then asked her to love him.
Silly man. As if she had any choice in the matter.
"I do love you, you know," she whispered. "I can't help myself. I fell in love with you practically from the moment we met, and I never stopped."
"I love you, too, sweeting," he murmured into her shoulder. "Always have, always will."
Her heart thundered in her chest. She'd waited so long to hear those words again, she could scarcely believe them.
She pulled back to search his face. "Truly?"
"Truly." With infinite tenderness, he brushed her fringe of curls from her eyes. "I tried so hard to forget you after we parted. But I couldn't. Not for one day."
That earned him a long kiss…that, and the prospect of him as hers. Her very own husband. Oh, yes. She could let herself think

Why wouldn't it be a good idea?" she asked.
Because the sight of you so delicately perched on your sidesaddle makes my blood heat and my hands itch to touch you.
"If you go missing, everyone will worry."
She snorted. "First of all, it's barely an hour after dawn. 'Everyone' will be asleep for another several hours. Secondly, my maid Gillie knows to say that I'm sleeping off a headache, as she always does when I'm target shooting." She flashed him a sheepish smile. "Gran doesn't approve of the shooting, you know. So I get a lot of headaches."
He gritted his teeth. Of course Celia did what she must to get her own way.

All this subterfuge in order to talk to me could have been prevented if you'd just ridden with me earlier today, when I asked."
"Really?" She smoothed his disordered hair, which was sticking up at all angles. "You wouldn't have spent the entire trip detailing reasons why I 'must' marry you?"
He flinched. "I'm sorry, Jane. Apparently, when I find myself with my back to the wall, I bark orders."
"I know." She straightened his cravat. "And in case you hadn't noticed, I don't do well with men who bark orders or make plans for me. It makes me want to shove them off a cliff."
"Or refuse to marry them?"
"That, too."
"Then I can see it's a habit I shall have to break, if I am to keep you happy." He glanced away. "Sometimes it's just…I don't know…easier to bark orders than to ask. Safer. No one has a chance to say no."
It hit her then. That was precisely why he felt more comfortable ordering people about, setting up plans, being in charge. Because when he wasn't in control, there was a chance he'd be left out in the cold. Left in a house with oblivious servants and a brother who despised him for taking his mother away by the simple fact of being born.
Left alone. Her poor, dear love.
Jane kept her eyes trained on his cravat. "But if you don't ever give people a chance to say no, you can never know if they will rise to the occasion or not."
He tipped up her chin until she was staring into his eyes. "I wronged you terribly by not trustin

How was Ambrose?"
"Starving, as usual. I swear he wants to nurse every two hours."
Zoe grinned. "It's because he's a boy." She pulled out some sheet music and began hunting through it for another selection. "Lisette says that Eugene nearly drove her mad. Even the wet nurse she used when she and Max came up to Winborough complained that she'd never seen a babe so lusty. But Claudine didn't give Lisette a bit of trouble. My little Drina was never a problem, either."
"Just as I always suspected," Jane said. "Men are insatiable from birth."
Dom's eyes twinkled at her. "In some things, anyway."
Her stomach flipped over. Dr. Worth had only yesterday told her that they could resume marital relations, but in all the chaos of the coronation preparations she hadn't had a chance to tell Dom.

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So he could talk to Jane and find out what had happened between her and Blakeborough after he left. He could finally get an answer to his marriage proposal.
Proposal? Jane would probably call it a marriage command.
He groaned. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to talk to her while he waited. He could always pack her off in another hackney before it was time for Meredith to return home. Yes, that would be best.
Climbing inside the hackney, he doffed his hat and shrugged out of his box coat. But all of his perfectly logical reasons for being there went right out of his head the moment he saw her looking so luscious and lovely in her sunny gown.
Because he desired only one thing. Jane. In his arms. Now.
She must have seen the feral need flare in his face, for her eyes went wide. That was the only reaction she had time for, however, before he dragged her into his embrace so he could take her mouth in a hard, urgent kiss.
God, he wanted her. He would never stop wanting her. Fisting his hands in her puffy sleeves to hold her still, he plundered her mouth the way he ached to plunder her body.
Suddenly she shoved him back. "What are you doing? That's not why--"
He clasped her head in his hands, dislodging her bonnet, which tumbled to the floor. Then he kissed her again, demanding her to kiss him back, to need him back. It took her a moment, but then she moaned low in her throat and melted against him.
And he exulted. She was soft, so wonde

Lord help her, she didn't care where
Byrne took her. Let hellfire consume her and the devil steal her soul. Because any hell with Byrne in it
was better than a heaven without him.

That was when it dawned on her--Dom wanted to unearth her secrets. Nancy's secrets. Just as Jane had feared, he really had deduced that she hid some.
A shiver ran down her spine, and she jerked her gaze from him, fighting to hide her consternation. "Merely the same reason I gave you before. Nancy could be in trouble. And it's your duty as her brother-in-law to keep her safe."
"From what?" he demanded. "From whom? Is there more to this than you're saying?"
Ooh, the fact that he was so determined to unveil the truth about Nancy while hiding his former collusion with her scraped Jane raw. "I could ask the same of you," she said primly. "You're obviously holding something back. You have some reason for your determination to believe ill of Nancy. I wonder what that might be."
Two can play your game, Almighty Dom. Hah!
He was silent so long that she ventured a glance at him to find him looking rather discomfited. Good! It was about time.
"I am merely keeping an open mind about your cousin, which is more than I can say for you," Dom finally answered. "She isn't the woman you think she is."
"Because she wouldn't give in to your advances twelve years ago, you mean?" She would make him admit the truth about that night if it was the last thing she did! "Perhaps that's why you're determined to blacken her character. You're angry that she resisted you and married your brother instead."
"That's a lie!" When several people on the street turned to look

Good day, ladies," he said with a distinctly American accent when all the women were above decks and the hatches closed. With a grin that took some of the edge off his fierce looks, he surveyed the crowd and added, "We've come to rescue you."
His words were so unexpected, so completely self-assured that Sara bristled. After all his blatant methods of intimidation, after he'd stood there surveying the women like cattle before the slaughter, he had the audacity to say such a thing!
"Is that what they're calling thievery, pillage, and rape these days?" she snapped.

You are too kind, my lady. Indeed, you are the most amiable Englishwoman I have ever met."
She laughed. The viscount was rapidly rising on her list. "Some people don't find me amiable." Like a certain unfeeling Bow Street Runner.
He struck a hand to his chest. "I cannot believe that! You are such an alma brilhante ... a bright soul. How can anyone not see it?"
She grinned at him. "They must all be blind."
"And deaf." He tapped his temple. "And not very right in the head."
"Excellent, my lord," she said. "Your grasped that idiom quite well."
He looked surprised by that, then smiled. "I have to learn if I am to impress the senhora."
She cast him a coy glance. "And why would you want to impress me, sir?"
Picking up her hand, he pressed a kiss to it again and this time didn't release it. "Why would I not?" His wistful expression tugged at her sympathies.
"You'd better eat your eggs before they get cold," she said, gently withdrawing her hand.

At least tell me the truth about Blakeborough," he said hoarsely. "Do you love him?"
"Why does it matter?"
His eyes ate her up. "If you do, I'll keep my distance. I'll stay out of your life from now on."
"You've been doing that easily enough for the past twelve years," she snapped. "I don't see why my feelings for Edwin should change anything."
"Easily? It was never easy, I assure you." His expression was stony. "And you're avoiding the question. Are you in love with Blakeborough?"
How she wished she could lie about it. Dom would take himself off, and she wouldn't be tempted by him anymore. Unfortunately, he could always tell when she was lying. "And if I say I'm not?"
"Then I won't rest until you're mine again."
The determination in his voice shocked her. Unsettled her.
Thrilled her.
No! "I don't want that."
His fingers dug into her arm. "Because you love Blakeborough?"
"Because love is a lie designed to make a woman desire what is only a figure of smoke in the wind. Love is too dangerous."
He released a heavy breath. "So you don't love him."
His persistence sparked her temper, and she pushed free of him. "Oh, for pity's sake, if you must know, I don't." She faced him down. "Not that it matters one whit. I don't need love to have a good marriage, an amiable marriage. I don't even want love."
It hurt too much when her heart was trampled upon. Dom had done that once before. How could she be sure he wouldn't

And when he'd hurried out as soon as Jane had been taken from the room, Louisa had mumbled something derogatory about the entire male sex.He hadn't taken offense. How could he?
Molly was screaming her blasted head off and enduring hours and hours of pain, all to bring forth a child without her husband. At that moment, he had the utmost respect for women and nothing but contempt for himself and his kind.

A man is what he is and no fancy lodgings or fine clothes will change that (Daniel Brennan)

Lady Kingsley, when you read this, do attempt to keep an open mind."

"I will if you will," she retorted hotly.

To her surprise, he chuckled. "I daresay neither of us will. It's a pity, too, because if we could ever see our way clear to agreeing on a matter, we might accomplish a great deal of good in this world."

It infuriated her that he could pretend to care even one whit for these boys. "Now you've confused me. I'd assumed that your reason for serving on so many charitable boards was to further your political aims. Yet all the time you were merely hoping to accomplish some 'good in this world.' How very astonishing."

Just that quickly, his amusement vanished. "While I don't pretend to be as morally superior as you and your late husband, my intentions are good, no matter what you make of them. It may shock you to learn that those of us with character flaws sometimes do as much good as those of you without.

What an idiot he was! Had he really thought he could get away with kissing a marquess's daughter?
And not just any marquess's daughter, either. Celia looking oh so tempting in her sumptuous purple gown. Lovely, angry Celia.
Lady Celia, he reminded himself. But he'd never be able to think of her like that again, not when the taste and smell of her still filled his senses.
Hearing voices behind him, he slipped into an empty room to wrangle his emotions into some semblance of control. But it was no use. He could still feel her body yielding to his, still hear her rapid breathing as he'd taken every advantage.
Damn her and her soft mouth and her delicate sighs and her fingers curling into the nape of his neck so that all he wanted to do was press her down onto a bench...
"Hell and blazes!" He thrust his hands through his hair. What in thunder was he supposed to do about her?
And why had she let him kiss her, anyway? Why had she waited until he'd made a complete fool of himself before she'd drawn that damned pistol?
Oh. Right. That was why. To make a fool of him herself. To lull him into a false sense of security so she could prove she could control any situation.
Well, he'd stymied that, but it was little consolation. He'd behaved like a damned mooncalf, devouring her mouth as if he were a wolf and she were supper. If he'd allowed her to speak of their kiss, she probably would have pointed out exactly how insolent he'd been. Would have warn

And in my private life I prefer not to pass myself off as what I'm not (Daniel Brennan)

We'll stay tonight. Then I'll see."
Thank God. He nodded, then moved rather stiffly to her side.
She hesitated. "I'm sorry I had to be so ... firm."
"Liar," he grumbled. "You're not the least bit sorry."
A faint smile touched her lips. "All right, so I'm not."
He offered her his arm. "Where did you learn that, anyway?"
"One of my older male cousins showed me what to do if some man ever tried anything."
At least her zealousness in protecting herself would keep him from letting his attraction to her run away with him. Any woman who was willing to do that to a man was trouble, and he wasn't about to give her a second crack at the family jewels.

So now Nathan had a new partner, who, by all accounts, was a dour old drudge with nary a daughter to his name. She'd seen Nathan in town once since then. He had not looked happy.
But she was insanely happy, especially after what the doctor had hold her yesterday. With only a few days left at home, she and Freddy had dragged Jane and Oliver on a romantic picnic. So far, it wasn't going all that well. Poor Jane darted up at every sound. Freddy's mischievous brothers had convinced her that wild Indians might descend upon them any minute, and no amount of Freddy's posturing with the sword could relieve her fears.
Oliver was no help, either. He kept pretending to see feather headdresses behind every bush, though Maria had told him repeatedly that the only tribes in their area had left long ago. He was every bit as devilish as her cousins, who'd embraced him instantly as a man after their own heats. Aunt Rose had pronounced Oliver a smooth-tongued rogue the first time he told her how fetching she looked in her peacock bonnet.
Little did she know.
"Are you sure there's a fish pond back there, Freddy?" Jane asked skeptically as Freddy led her around a deserted cabin.
"Quite sure." He puffed out his chest. "I've caught many a fine trout in that pond."
"More like trout bait," Maria told Oliver, who was stretched out on the blanket beside her, reading a letter from Jarret. "I've never seen a fish longer than my thumb in that pond.

Jane knew from Dom's flinch that he'd been hoping for a different response, but she couldn't help it--she spoke the truth.
When he acted like a gentleman, as he had at dinner, she remembered exactly why she'd fallen in love with him. But when he reminded her of how he'd made assumptions and, worse yet, used those assumptions to decide her future for her, she couldn't bear it. Because he was still doing it, still demanding his way and dictating terms and ignoring her concerns.
She understood the courtly gentleman. It was the autocratic devil she had trouble understanding.
And she might as well admit it. She twisted her head to look up at him. "I don't know how I feel about you anymore."
The pain that slashed over his features only confused her further. Was he genuinely hurt by the thought that he'd killed her love? Or was his pride merely bruised because he hadn't been able to step right back into her life as if the past meant nothing?
"At least tell me the truth about Blakeborough," he said hoarsely. "Do you love him?"
"Why does it matter?"
His eyes ate her up. "If you do, I'll keep my distance. I'll stay out of your life from now on."
"You've been doing that easily enough for the past twelve years," she snapped. "I don't see why my feelings for Edwin should change anything."
"Easily? It was never easy, I assure you." His expression was stony. "And you're avoiding the question. Are you in love with Blakeborough?"
How she wishe

How can you have such faith in me?" he asked hoarsely. "How can you believe in me when I've given you no reason?"
"You've given me plenty of reasons, but there's only one that matters. I love you, Oliver. I can't help myself. That is my reason."
He began to shake, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"I love you," she repeated as she kissed his cheek. "I love you." She kissed the other cheek, now damp, though she wasn't sure whether from her tears or his. "I love you so much." She brushed his lips with hers.
He held her back to search her face. "God help you if that is a lie," he said in an aching voice. "Because those words have sealed your fate. I'll never let you go, now.

His eyes narrowed to menacing slits. "But that doesn't mean that if you refuse my offer and stay, I'll stand by and let you have her. I won't. In the end you'll lose, and you won't even have the consolation of my gold." He took his foot off the chair and leaned forward, planting his hands on the table as he eyed Petey with suspicion. "Why all the questions, Hargraves? You'd give up any hope of riches and adventure just to marry Miss Willis?"
"No, of course not," Petey said hastily, before the pirate's suspicions could be truly roused. "You can be sure I'd prefer this scepter and the chance to be off this island to Miss Willis any day." He paused, weighing his words. "I just don't understand why you don't feel the same."
Captain Horn drew himself up with the bearing of one of those nobles he so distained. "That's none of your concern. Do you want the thing or not? Because if you don't - " he broke off as he reached for the scepter.
Petey jerked it back. "I want it." He wasn't sure if he was playing this right, but it didn't look as if he had any choice.
"I want it. I'll be off your island tomorrow."
For a moment, Petey could have sworn he saw relief in the captain's face. Then the man's expression hardened. "One more thing - you're not to speak to her of any of this, you understand? You must promise to leave tomorrow without a word to her.

Even a ship can become a prison if all you see around you are bars.

Well, she would marry a man who didn't need or want her fortune. Mr. Pinter didn't fall into that category.
And given how blank his expression became as his gaze met hers, she'd been right to be skeptical. he would never be interested in her in that way.
He confirmed it by saying, with his usual formality, "I doubt any man would consider your ladyship unacceptable as a wife."
Oh, when he turned all hoity-toity, she could just murder him. "Then we agree that the gentlemen in question would find me satisfactory," she said, matching his cold tone. "So I don't see why you assume they'd be unfaithful."
"Some men are unfaithful no matter how beautiful their wives are," Mr. Pinter growled.
He thought her beautiful?
There she went again, reading too much into his words. He was only making a point. "But you have no reason to believe that these gentleman would be. Unless there's some dark secret you already know about them that I do not?"
Glancing away, he muttered a curse under his breath. "No."
"Then here's your chance to find out the truth about their characters. Because I prefer facts to opinions. And I was under the impression that you do, too."
Take that, Mr. Pinter! Hoist by your own petard. The man always insisted on sticking to the facts.
And he was well aware that she'd caught him out, for he scowled, then crossed his arms over his chest. His rather impressive chest, from what she could tell beneath his black coat and plain bu

Watch it, minx," he warned with a lift of his brow. "If you intend to taunt me for every foolish statement I've made in my life, you'll force me to play Rockton and lock you up in my dark, forbidding manor while I have my wicked way with you."
That sounds perfectly awful,"she said gazing at the man she loved. "How soon can we start?