Sarah MacLean Quotes

I've got it! Let's get Alex married off as quickly as possible. That will make it easier for all of us!" Nick spoke with dry humor, "I'm not sure it would make it easier for Alex." Kit feigned disappointment. "Nor her husband, I suspect." "I don't expect many men will be too thrilled at the prospect of courting Alex, to be honest, what with having us to contend with," Will said, then added, "I confess, the only thing I am looking forward to is terrifying her potential suitors." Kit chuckled. "It's an additional benefit that, in terrifying them, we shall infuriate her." The

The poor creature never had a chance of survival," Alex said, walking toward Blackmoor's desk. "You were both excellent." "Although Ella almost ruined our chances," Vivi pointed out with a smile. "Indeed," Alex agreed, "some investigator you make. You did rally, however. I confess I was quite impressed with Agrarian Trends. Nice touch." "Thank you. I thought so, myself." Ella nodded in appreciation.

It's so beautiful and red."
Pippa nodded. "That's the chromium."
"The what?"
"Chromium. It is an additive in the crystal that turns it red. If it were anything else added... it wouldn't be a ruby. It would be a sapphire." Olivia blinked, and Pippa continued, "It's a common misconception that all sapphires are blue, but that's not the case. They can be any color... green or yellow or pink, even. It depends on the additive. But they're all called sapphires. It's only if they're red that they're called something else. Rubies. Because of the chromium.

He approached her, his voice taking on a seductive tenor. "Shall we seal it with a kiss, then?"
Callie caught her breath and stiffened at the question. Ralston smiled at her obvious nerves. He ran a finger along the edge of her hairline, tucking a rogue lock of hair behind her ear gently. She looked up at him with her wide brown eyes, and he felt a burst of tenderness in his chest. He leaned close, moving slowly, as though she might scare at any moment, and his firm mouth brushed across hers, settling briefly, barely touching before she jumped back, one hand flying to her lips.
He leveled her with a frank gaze and waited for her to speak. When she didn't, he asked, "Is there a problem?"
"N-No!" she said, a touch too loudly. "Not at all, my lord. That is- Thank you."
His breath exhaled on a half laugh. "I'm afraid that you have mistaken the experience." He paused, watching the confusion cross her face. "You see, when I agree to something, I do it wholeheartedly. That was not the kiss for which you came, little mouse."
Callie wrinkled her nose at his words, and at the nickname he had used for her. "It wasn't?"
"No."
Her nervousness flared, and she resumed toying with her cloak tassel. "Oh, well. It was quite nice. I find I am quite satisfied that you have held up your end of our bargain."
"Quite nice isn't what you should be aiming for," he said, taking her restless hands into his own and allowing his voice to deepen. "Neither should the

Be careful, Alexandra, you're beginning to sound like the type of young lady who wants all those things typical young females want," Ella said with warning in her voice, her nose wrinkled, "marriage, children, a house in Surrey." "What's wrong with wanting marriage and children?" Vivi asked. "I want those things. Not Surrey," she said with a raised finger, "but the rest." "True, but with you, it's different. You're pining after The One." Ella said the last with an exaggerated swoon, which Vivi ignored. "Well, maybe Blackmoor is Alex's One." Ella turned an incredulous look on Alex. "Really?" They both turned questioning looks on Alex, who thought for a moment before speaking. Was Gavin The One? Could she imagine spending the rest of her life with him? Certainly, his mere presence set her heart racing. When he flashed one of his private, conspiratorial grins, she wanted to stop whatever she was doing and just bask in the glow of his attention.

No matter how troubled a character's history, romance novels tell us, love can be built upon it, and happily-ever-after can result. What's more, the darker the past, the brighter the future - and the better the read.

When given the opportunity, Society will happily cannibalize itself.

One of the most common criticisms of romance is that the genre is too prescribed: If every romance novel ends happily ever after, don't the stories lack complexity? Don't the readers get bored?

But it didn't stop him from loving her just a little. From loving all women - all shapes, all sizes, all walks of life. Their soft skin and softer curves, the way they gasped and giggled and sighed, the way the wealthy ones played their coy games, and the less fortunate ones looked at him, stars in their eyes, eager for his attention. Women were, without a doubt, the Lord's finest creation. And, at twenty-three, he had plans for a lifetime of worshipping them.

Before I merely daydreamed about Ralston. Now I find myself actually with him. Actually talking to him. Actually discovering the real Ralston. He is no longer a creature I invented. He is flesh and blood and ... now I can't help wondering ... " She trailed off, unwilling to say what she was thinking. What if he were mine?
She did not have to say the words aloud; Anne heard them anyway. When Callie opened her eyes and met Anne's gaze in the looking glass, she saw Anne's response there. Ralston is not for you, Callie.
"I know, Anne," Callie said quietly, as much to remind herself as to reassure her friend.

What do you think of this" he asked, indicating the painting nearby.
She gave him an odd look. "I think it's an enormous painting of a dog."
He made a show of considering the picture and nodded seriously. "An astute observation.

Where are you sleeping?"
A wicked black brow rose. "Why? Are you inviting me into your bed?"
The words stung with their rudeness. Penelope stiffened as though she had received a physical blow. She waited a beat, sure he would apologize.
Silence.
"You've changed."
"Perhaps you should remember that the next time you decide to go on a midnight adventure."
He was nothing like the Michael she had once known.
She spun on her heel, heading into the blackness, toward the place where Needham Manor stood. She'd gone only a few feet before she turned back to face him. He had not moved.
"I really was happy to see you." She turned and headed away, back to her home, the cold seeping deep into her bones before she turned back, unable to resist a final barb. Something to hurt him as he'd hurt her. "And Michael?"
She couldn't see his eyes, but she knew undeniably that he was watching her, listening.
"You're on my land.

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I do not traditionally speak ill of women, but your governess is a cabbagehead

We were discussing the fine puppetry of fate.

She had wanted more than she could have.
She had wanted him, and more ... she had wanted him to want her.
In the name of something bigger than tradition, bolder than reputation, more important than a silly title.

Enlighten me, Lord Blackmoor, how should I be wooed, as you put it? I am intrigued by your obvious expertise."
He was quick to respond, "You're too vibrant for them. Too strong. You have a sharp mind and an exciting personality and an unexpected sense of humor. If these men were half the man you deserve, they would have already recognized all those things and they would be romancing you accordingly. They would be working to intrigue and amuse and inspire you
just as you do them. And they would know that only when they have won your mind will they even have a chance at winning your heart."
The room felt much warmer all of a sudden, and Alex resisted the urge to fan herself, trying to ignore the rapid increase in her pulse as color flooded her cheeks. In the silence that followed his impassioned speech, Gavin stood and walked over to her. A cocky grin spread across his face. "That's how I write to the women I hope to interest, Alex.

If only others knew that Lady Calpurnia Hartwell, proper, well-behaved spinster, entertained deep-seated and certainly unladylike thoughts about fictional heroes.

It would be stupid for me to attempt to return to Society without basic reconnaissance."
"That is a term usually reserved for military conflict."
She raised a brow. "It is London in season. You think I am not at war?

Like so many others, I came to romance during the golden age of it - Judith McNaught, Julie Garwood, Johanna Lindsey and Jude Deveraux were at the height of their historical domination. Without those women, I wouldn't be a romance novelist.

The trick to great romance is in overcoming adversity. In realizing that love is worth some uphill climbs.

Is the great Marquess of Ralston afraid of what might happen if he takes such a risk? The same man who once compromised a Prussian princess in Hyde Park?"
He blinked. "I did no such thing."
Callie couldn't help the little smile that flashed. "Ah, so we finally discover a legend that is not grounded in reality.

He continued. "So I shall simply tell you the truth. I have spent my entire life preparing for a cold, unfeeling, unimpassioned life - a life filled with pleasantries and simplicity. And then you came into it . . . you . . . the opposite of all that. You are beautiful and brilliant and bold and so very passionate about life and love and those things that you believe in. And you taught me that everything I believed, everything I thought I wanted, everything I had spent my life espousing - all of it . . . it is wrong. I want your version of life . . . vivid and emotional and messy and wonderful and filled with happiness. But I cannot have it without you.
"I love you, Juliana. I love the way you have turned my entire life upside down, and I am not certain I could live without you now that I have lived with you.

Lady Calpurnia."
"I'd rather you call me Callie," she said hurriedly.
"You don't like Calpurnia?" The words were lazily curious.
She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Callie..." He coaxed, the words spoken in a deep, liquid tone that she was certain he used whenever he wanted something from a woman. She would not be surprised to discover that it always worked.

"I'd rather you" title="Sarah MacLean Quotes: Lady Calpurnia."
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Why now? Why not wait for a man to come along and ... sweep you off your feet?"
She gave a short laugh. "If the man you speak of had ever planned on coming, my lord, I'm afraid he has obviously lost his way. And, at twenty-eight, I find I have grown tired of waiting.

I forbid you from frequenting taverns, public houses, or other establishments of vice."
She snorted in amusement. "Establishments of vice? That's a rather puritanical view of things, isn't it? I assure you, I was quite safe."
"You were with Ralston!" he said, as though she were simpleminded.
"He was perfectly respectable," she said, the words coming out before she remembered that the carriage ride home was anything but respectable.
"Imagine - my sister and the Marquess of Ralston together. And he turns out to be the respectable one," Benedick said wryly, sending heat flaring on Callie's cheeks, but not for the reason he thought. "No more taverns.

Men are not nearly as evolved as women are, nor as intelligent, evidently

She accused him of not thinking she was enough for him? The woman was entirely too much for him! She made him want to bellow with rage and hit things, then lock her in a room and kiss her senseless, until she gave in.

So, are you ... intrigued ... by Stanhope?" "Intrigued by him?" "Indeed. Do you find him ... " he paused. "Intriguing?" she teased. He sent her an exasperated look.

It appears that you have the advantage of me."
"Indeed, it does seem that way." Callie was shocked by her own boldness.
"May I assist you in some way?"
"I had thought so. However, after witnessing the manner in which you address the women in your life, I find I would rather not join their ranks.

I think romance is maligned in large part because at first glance, love seems so pedestrian. It's all around us. It's in books and songs and movies and on billboards, so how could it really hold literary value? But what people tend to forget is that the search for love - for the simple idea that there is someone out there who will see us for who we are and accept us isn't trite. It's a huge part of our lives. And it's an enormous part of our dreams.
There are so many fabulous romances out there - there's something for everyone. I really believe that. And I believe that most of the people who look down their noses at the genre haven't ever read a romance novel. I think that if they did, they'd be really surprised by how good great romance can be.

What is your name?" he asked softly.
She winced, knowing what was to come, "Calpurnia." She closed her eyes again, embarrassed by the extravagant name- a name with which no one but a hopelessly romantic mother with an unhealthy obsession with Shakespeare would have considered saddling a child.
"Calpurnia." He tested the name on his tongue. "As in, Caesar's wife?"
The blush flared higher as she nodded.
He smiled. "I must make it a point to better acquaint myself with your parents. That is a bold name, to be sure."
"It's a horrible name."
"Nonsense. Calpurnia was Empress of Rome- strong and beautiful and smarter than the men who surrounded her. She saw the future, stood strong in the face of her husband's assassination. She is a marvelous namesake.

She lifted one shoulder and lowered it. 'Because love is for 'lucky among us.
'What does that mean?' he said, her words rioting through him, unwelcome in their eerie truth.
'Only that I am not counted among the lucky. Everyone I have ever loved has left.

Then allow me to finish it. Categorically. I am happy for you to pursue all the adventure you like. Here. In this house. Under this roof. Drink until you can no longer stand. Curse like a dockside sailor. Set your embroidery aflame, for God's sake. But, as your elder brother, the head of the family, and the earl," he stressed the last words, "I forbid you from frequenting taverns, public houses, or other establishments of vice.

Truth is irrelevant. What is relevant is whether or not they believe it."
The logic in the words grated. "The first rule of scoundrels?

Sometimes love is not enough.

Ah, but then I would be a widow. No one insults widows.

Yes Simon.
He was in control.
He was ruining her for all others.
And she did not care.

Yes, I'll marry you."
And then his hands were in her hair, scattering her hairpins, and his lips were on hers, stealing her breath, and she was touching him- this remarkable man whom she'd loved for so long and who was finally, finally hers.
Callie sighed into Ralston's mouth- noting that he tasted of scotch and something more exotic, more male- and a feeling of complete and utter elation coursed through her. This was Ralston, her future husband, and he was making her feel so warm and wonderful and alive. And then he was kissing down the column of her neck, whispering her name like a litany as he lifted her arms over his shoulders and set his lips to the expanse of white skin above the neck of her gown. Callie gasped as his strong hands spread wide across her torso, stealing up to cup her breasts in a gesture of complete and utter possession.
"This gown," he said, the words coming thick and liquid, "is sinful."
Callie couldn't help her smile as he leaned back to watch her breasts lift against the satin edge of the dress. "Do you think so?"
"Indeed. It is made to drive men crazy... to reveal all your luscious curves"- he ran a finger beneath the satin lazily, just far enough to graze the edge of a nipple- "without showing off anything. It's a torturous viewing experience," he added, wickedly, as he pulled the edge of the gown lower, exposing the straining tip of one breast to the cool air and his hot mouth. He suckled briefly, until Callie was writhing

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In seven books, I've written my fair share of baby epilogues. Pregnancies and births and even grandchildren have made an appearance in the final pages of my books.

You realize that is you allow me to court you, all your opposition to marriage is going to have to be reconsidered."
She smiled, feigning innocence."What opposition to marriage?"
"Excellent."
"But I'm thinking we should have a long courtship."
"Why?" He looked surprised.
"Because i find I've developed a taste for adventure."
"That sounds dangerous. Not at all in character for a delicate flower."
She laughed." We know I've never been good at being a delicate flower. Besides, it shan't be too dangerous."
"How can you be so sure?"
She smiled brilliantly at him, taking his breath away.
"Because, on my next adventure, I'll have you by my side.

My lord?"
Nick turned at the tentative, feminine voice, to find two young women standing nearby, watching him eagerly. Nick spoke, wary.
"Yes? "
"We - " one of them began to speak, then stopped, uncertain. The other nudged her toward him.
"Yes?"
"We are fans."
Nick blinked. "Of?"
"Of yours."
"Of mine."
"Indeed!" The second girl smiled broadly and stepped closer, holding out what looked suspiciously like -
Nick swore under his breath.
"Would you be willing to autograph our magazine? "
Nick held up a hand. "I would, girls, but you've got the wrong brother." He pointed to Gabriel. "That is Lord Nicholas."
Rock snorted as the two shifted their attention to the Marquess of Ralston, a dazzlingly handsome copy of their prey, and tittered their excitement.
Gabriel instantly eased into his role, turning a brilliant smile on the girls. "I would be happy to autograph your magazine." He took the journal and the pen they proffered and said, "You know, I must confess, this is the first time I've ever drawn the attention of ladies when in the company of my brother. Ralston has always been considered the more handsome of us."
"No!" the girls protested.
Nick rolled his eyes.
"Indeed. Ask anyone. They'll tell you it's the marquess who is the best specimen. Surely you've heard that." He looked up at them with a winning smile. "You can admit it, girls. My feelings shan't be hurt."
Gabriel h

Nick turned" title="Sarah MacLean Quotes: My lord?"
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First, I thought we'd already established that I am not a gentleman. That ship sailed long ago. And second, you'd be surprised what gentlemen do...and what ladies enjoy."

~Lord Bourne

As it began, rain ended quickly in Yorkshire. There was no gradual waning of water, no silent mist to ease the way from heavy drops to dry skies. Instead, there was a simple change, like the snuffing of a candle. One moment, there was pounding rain, and the next ... silence.

He paused, then looked up at her. "It hurts, did you know that? Growing." She shook her head. "How?" That smile again, the one that made her want to hold him until they were old. "Physically. You ache. Like your bones cannot keep up with themselves. But now that you ask, I suppose it hurts in every other way, as well - there's a keen sense that where you have been is no longer where you are. And certainly nothing like where you are going." He stopped, then whispered, "Nothing like where I was going." "Alec -

I love the boy you were and the man you have become.

She'd so believed he could - that decades marked by disdain for emotion could have been nothing more than a faint memory in his checkered past. That she could love him enough to prove to him that the world was worth his caring, his trust. That she could turn him into the man of whom she had dreamed for so long.
That was perhaps the hardest truth of all - that Ralston, the man she'd pined over for a decade, had never been real. He'd never been the strong and silent Odysseus; he'd never been aloof Darcy; never Antony, powerful and passionate. He had only ever been Ralston, arrogant and flawed and altogether flesh and blood.

If my work has taught me anything, it is this: While a great many curiosities can be explained using thorough scientific research and sound logic, there are a handful of them that resist such easy hypothesis. These mysteries tend to be the most human. The most important.
Chief among them is love.

Would you like to cross another item off this list today?"
"I should like that very much. Which do you propose?"
"I think it's time to try riding astride".
"You can't mean ... "
"Oh, but I do, indeed, mean, Empress.

Viscount St. John? He's got the intelligence of a goat. If this is an indication of the kind of suitors I've got simpering after me, it speaks to a significant problem with my perceived quality." "Alexandra, there are some forty bouquets in this room alone, and I've had several posies sent to the upstairs parlor because of space constraints here. I feel confident that there are several notes from gentlemen who are not dull-witted.

She took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling for a long moment. A raindrop moved slowly down her neck; he watched as it turned down the slope of
her breast to disappear inside the collar of her shirt.
He was seriously contemplating becoming jealous of a droplet of water. Yorkshire was obviously damaging to his sanity.

She lifted her lantern high, and he allowed her to free him from the shadows, casting his face in warm, golden light. He had aged marvelously, grown into his long limbs and angled face. Penelope had always imagined that he'd become handsome, but he was more than handsome now... he was nearly beautiful.
If not for the darkness that lingered despite the glow of the lantern- something dangerous in the set of his jaw, in the tightness of his brow, in eyes that seemed to have forgotten joy, in lips that seemed to have lost their ability to smile.
He'd had a dimple as a child, one that showed itself often and was almost always the precursor to adventure. She searched his left cheek, looking for that telltale indentation. Did not find it.
Indeed, as much as Penelope searched this new, hard face, she could not seem to find the boy she'd once known. If not for the eyes, she would not have believed it was him at all.
"How sad," she whispered to herself.
He heard it. "What?"
She shook her head, meeting his gaze, the only thing familiar about him. "He's gone."
"Who?"
"My friend."
She hadn't thought it possible, but his features hardened even more, growing more stark, more dangerous, in the shadows. For one fleeting moment, she thought perhaps she had pushed him too far. He remained still, watching her with that dark gaze that seemed to see everything.

Penelope! Marriage proposals from wealthy, eligible young men do not blossom on trees! Particularly not in January, I wouldn't think.

One thing was true, the girl had well learned the first rule of surviving a kidnapping - remain loud and irritating.

But, my lady, you seem to have an altogether different admirer who can't take his eyes off you. And, at this particular moment, he doesn't appear at all pleased that you are enjoying yourself in my arms.

When in doubt, bluff.

As a romance novelist, I have a rather skewed view of babies. You see, they don't typically fit into the classic structure of the romance novel - romance is about two people finding each other and falling in love against insurmountable odds. Babies ... well ... babies are complicated.

It's quite pleasant, isn't it?"
"Kissing? I'm not sure I would use the word pleasant. Thoroughly unsettling, entirely vexing, and altogether - "
"Wonderful.

I wouldn't believe you." "Why not?" "Because any man who has exclusive access to you would not be able to go a day without touching you.

For nine years, I thought it was vengeance that would save me, and it took you- my strong, beautiful wife- to prove that I was wrong and that love was my salvation. You are my redemption," he whispered. "You are my benediction.

There is perhaps no more rewarding romance heroine than she who is not expected to find love. The archetype comes in many disguises - the wallflower, the spinster, the governess, the single mom - but always with one sad claim: Love is not in her cards.

Either way, I must thank you - you seem to be ever saving me from getting myself into trouble." With an exaggerated sigh, he replied, "It's a task I resigned myself to long ago, Alex." She couldn't help but think of the first time he'd saved her. "Lucky for you, you don't have to catch me jumping from trees anymore. I daresay your more recent missions have been rather more easy." "I wouldn't be so certain," he spoke enigmatically. She

And you, my lord?" Vivi said politely. "Are you not tired after your long day?" "No. I find myself feeling rather energized." Ella and Vivi looked at each other, and Vivi tried again, with a slightly firmer tone, "Perhaps you would feel differently if you found your chamber, my lord." "I don't think so." The corner of Will's mouth twitched, betraying his amusement. "William, you would try the patience of a saint," Vivi said with a smile. "Must I ask you to escort two young women frightened of the dark upstairs?" He laughed aloud. "You two? Frightened of something? I find that very difficult to believe." Ella

Brilliant blue gazes met. "I swear before you and God that I will. But if something should happen, and this morning should go awry, promise me you'll take care of her. Promise me you'll tell her ... " Ralston paused.
"Tell her what?"
Ralston took a deep breath, the words bringing a tightening in his chest. "Promise me you'll tell her that I was an idiot. That the money didn't matter. That, last night, faced with the terrifying possibility that I had lost her ... I realized that she was the most important thing I had ever had ... because of my arrogance and my unwillingness to accept what has been in my heart for too long ... " He trailed off. "What the hell have I done?"
"It appears that you've gone and fallen in love.

He wanted to touch her, to tame her, to take her in his arms and make love to her until they were both exhausted and unable to think of anything beyond their embrace. He wanted to sink into her rich ebony curls, her beautiful eyes, her infinite softness and never return.

Lady Calpurnia.
He had thought her a boon- a woman with an unparalleled reputation who had simply appeared. She was the perfect solution to the problem of preparing Juliana for her first season- or so he had thought. But then he had kissed her.
And the kiss had been rather extraordinary.
He scoffed at the thought. He had been frustrated and taken aback by the arrival of his sister. Any kiss would have been a welcome distraction.
Especially one so freely given by such an enthusiastic, enjoyable partner.
Ralston hardened almost instantly, remembering the way Callie felt in his arms, her soft sighs, the way she had so willingly given herself up to the kiss. He wondered if her excitement for kissing would translate into eagerness for other, more passionate, acts. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine her in his bed, all enormous brown eyes and full, welcoming lips, wearing nothing but a willing smile.

It was only then that she realized how closely he held her, and how the gentle incline of the hill brought her almost eye to eye with him.
One side of his mouth twitched. "Your cheeks are like cherries."
She tucked her chin into the fur cowl at her neck. "It's cold," she said, defensively.
He shook his head. "I am not complaining. I think they're rather charming. They make you look like a winter nymph.

You must be mistaken," Isabel said, unconcerned by the insult that the words carried.
"I assure you i am not. Voluptas is nearly always portrayed wrapped in roses. If that were not enough, her faces confirms her identity."
"You cannot tell a goddess from a face carved in marble," she scoffed.
"You can tell Voluptas by her face."
"I've never even heard of this goddess, and you know what she looks like?"
"She is the goddess of sensual pleasure."
Isabel's mouth fell open at the words. She could not think of a single thing to say in response. "Oh

I really don't think anyone can blame us for wanting no part of the marriage mart if she is already the belle of the ball," Ella said. "My mother even had
the audacity to ask me earlier if I didn't think I should have a gown made like hers! Lord deliver me from the London season

When you are ignored by the stars, you wonder if you might ever burn bright.

I, for one, have no interest at all in having my heart stolen.

The door closed firmly, leaving the poor old man on the other side, staring speechlessly at it, wondering at the silliness of females and thanking his maker that his masters had never had daughters, before taking himself off to continue his afternoon duties.

Love isn't one-sided and selfish.It is full and generous and life-altering in the best of ways.Love does not destroy, Gabriel.It creates.

He nodded. I no longer focus on meeting their expectations because I am too focused on outdoing hers.

Does it hurt?" Like a bastard. "Women are known for their ability to endure pain." "Mmm. And to think you are considered the weaker sex." She cut him a look. "A label no doubt assigned by a man who never witnessed a childbirth.

How do we get into Blackmoor's study? Did you climb in?"
"No, he lifted me in."
"Hmm. Right, then. Vivi will have to give us a boost up."
"She will, will she?" from the booster in question.
"Well, how else do we sneak in?"
"I rather thought that we could knock on the front door and have Bingham let us in," Alex said matter-of-factly, referencing Blackmoor's ancient butler, as she led the trio around the corner of the house and toward the main entrance.
"What? We can't do that!" Ella stopped, indignant.
"Whyever not?" Vivi asked, following Alex. "It seems a perfectly acceptable way to enter. In fact, I believe I've been entering houses that way for my entire life.

I don't understand," Olivia said. "How did Penny sewing and unsewing make for the Trojan War?"
"Penelope was Odysseus's wife," Philippa explained. "He left her, and she sat at her loom, sewing all day, and unraveling all her work at night. For years."
"Why on earth would someone do that?" Olivia wrinkled her nose, selecting a sweet from a nearby tray. "Years? Really?"
"She was waiting for him to come home," Penelope said, meeting Michael's gaze. There was something meaningful there, and he thought she might be speaking of more than the Greek myth. Did she wait for him at night? She'd told him not to touch her... she'd pushed him away... but tonight, if he went to her, would she accept him? Would she follow the path of her namesake?
"I hope you have more exciting things to do when you are waiting for Michael to come home, Penny," Olivia teased.
Penelope smiled, but there was something in her gaze that he did not like, something akin to sadness. He blamed himself for it. Before him, she was happier. Before him, she smiled and laughed and played games with her sisters without reminder of her unfortunate fate.
He stood to meet her as she approached the settee. "I would never leave my Penelope for years." He said, "I would be too afraid that someone would snatch her away." His mother-in-law sighed audibly from across the room as his new sisters laughed. He lifted one of Penelope's hands in his and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. "Penelope and Odys

I never met Colleen McCullough; if I had, I probably would have cried and made a fool of myself.

I intend to play. We require a dealer."
Michael's gaze snapped to her as Langford sneered, "I will not play cards with a woman."
She took the seat at one side of the table. "I usually will not play cards with men who rob children of their inheritance, but tonight appears to be one for exceptions."
Cross looked to Michael. "She is incredible."
Possessiveness flared as he took his seat, eyes on his wife. "She is mine.

Nstead of Ralston saying any number of wonderful things that could have been appropriate for the precise situation in which they had found themselves -from You are the most unparalleled female I have ever known, to How can I ever live without you now that I've found heaven in your arms, to I love you, Callie, more than I had ever dreamed to even Shall we have another go?- he'd gone and mucked it up by apologizing.

Her eyes widened slightly at the words and she played the last moments of their conservation over in her head. We are in love. He met her gaze, not letting her look away as he spoke. You appear to have missed my meaning. Allow me to repeat myself more plainly. I love you, Alex.

I had a perfect life in my reach once, and it was a crashing bore. Perfect is too clean, too easy. I don't want perfect any more than I want to be perfect. I want imperfect.

Hope was a fool's emotion.

Temptation turns you. It makes you into something you
never dreamed, it presses you to give up everything you
ever loved, it calls you to sell your soul for one, fleeting
moment.

I can't help but think," she started, then stopped. Knowing she shouldn't say it. Knowing, somehow, that it would make everything harder. "I can't help but think... if only I'd..."
He knew it, too. "Don't."
But she couldn't stop it. She looked up at him. "If only I'd found you first."
The words were small and sad, and she hated them, even as they brought him to her- his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks and tilting her up to him. Even as they brought his lips to hers in a kiss that robbed her of strength and will and, eventually, thought.
His long fingers threaded through her hair, holding her still as he lifted his lips, met her gaze, and whispered her name before taking her mouth again in long, lavish strokes. Again and again, he did the same, whispering her name against her lips, her cheek, the heavy pulse at the side of her neck, punctuating the word with licks and nips and sucks that set her aflame.

It's exactly the kind of skill we should have. Our whole world is built by men. For them. And we're simply here for decoration, brought in at the end of everything important. Well, I grow tired of ends. Locks are beginnings.

The man was a legendary scoundrel. An expert ruiner of young ladies. And he'd never once been punished for it. Perhaps because he was so very good at it. It seemed a shame to punish someone for what was clearly a remarkable skill.

Scandal had made it easy for Penelope to end the engagement without being jilted. Well, at least, not precisely.
She would not describe it as a jilt, exactly. More of a jolt, really.

I think we can all agree that Colin Firth falls into the George Clooney category of 'Men Who Age Like Fine Wine.'

She can't force us to go to the ball. We're grown men, for Lord's sake!"
Will cocked an eyebrow at his younger brother. "You don't think she can force us? We are speaking of the same mother, correct? Small frame,
enormous will?

He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time since they'd come out to the terrace, and she was surprised by how much a man he appeared in the darkness. The light owed his face, harshening the angles of his straight nose, his strong jaw. His eyes glittered and Alex didn't know if it was a trick of the light, but she couldn't look away from him.

Watch the way the words affected her . . . the way the light went out of her eyes . . . the way she stiffened as though he'd struck her. "You're horrible," she said, simply. Honestly. In that moment, as she looked at him, all calm accusation, he hated himself enough for both of them. But he was a master at hiding his emotions. "It seems that way." The words were flippant. Forced.

He called me a pie!" she announced, defensively. There was a pause. "Wait. That's not right."
"A tart?"
"Yes! That's it!

Cross," she whispered. "Please-"
And in that plea, he lost himself. "Yes, love," he said, inhaling her heady, glorious scent. "I'll give you everything you want. Everything you need."
He stroked into her softness again, and he wondered at the way she wept for him, not knowing what he would give her... what he could do to her... and wanting it nonetheless. "Do you feel it? The truth of it? How much you want me?"
"I want..." she started, then stopped.
He turned his head, nipping at the soft skin of her inner thigh, reveling in the softness there- that untouched, uncharted, silken spread. "Say it." He would give it to her. Anything in his power. Anything beyond it.
She looked down at him, blue eyes fairly glowing with desire. "I want you to want me."
He closed his eyes at that; trust Pippa to be forthright even here, even now, even as she bared herself to his eyes and mouth and hands. Trust her to strip this moment of all remaining shrouds, leaving it raw and bare and honest.
God help him, he told her the truth. He wasn't certain he could do anything but. "I do, love. I want you more than you could ever know. More than I could have ever dreamed. I want you enough for two men. For ten."
She laughed at that, the sound coming on a wicked movement of strong hips and soft stomach. "I don't require ten. Just you."
Even as he knew he would never be worthy enough for her, the words went straight to the hard, straining length of him, and he k

And" title="Sarah MacLean Quotes: Cross," she whispered. "Please-"
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You are an astronomer as well as a mathematician?"
He turned to face her, finally, half his face cast into shadowy light from the manor beyond. "You are a horticulturalist as well as an anatomist?"
She smiled. "We are surprising, aren't we?"
His lips twitched. "We are.

I enjoyed every bit of the evening. I may not drink scotch or smoke a cheroot again, but I shall always cherish the fact that I did those things. The adventure is well worth the disappointing experience.

As winter approaches - bringing cold weather and family drama - we crave page-turners, books made for long nights and tryptophan-induced sloth.

Aren't we all victims of fate?

In the silence that ensued, Mariana turned her gaze on Callie. Ignoring her sister's pleading look, the younger woman offered a smile befitting The Allendale Angel, and said, sweetly, Callie, it appears that you have a visitor.'
Callie's gaze narrowed. There was truly nothing worse in the wide world than a sister.

I hope you do not consider me so distasteful?"
She allowed herself to meet his amused gaze. No. Ralston was not distasteful. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
"No, my lord," she said, the softness in her tone betraying her thoughts before she added, "And neither does Miss Heloise, it appears. She was quite charmed by you."
"One must use one's talents to one's advantage, Lady Calpurnia."
"Something I am certain you do quite well."
His voice deepened. "I assure you, I do it very well.

Do not like this taste for adventure you have developed, sister."
"I am afraid I cannot guarantee I shall be rid of it anytime soon.