Fenna Edgewood > Quotes

“Those piercingly beautiful blue eyes were looking down at him, stupefying him as they met his own, evoking images of sapphire jewels and a starry sky and… Good Lord, was her hair truly the shade of moonbeams?”
― Fenna Edgewood, Kiss Me, My Duke

“His lips burned as they touched her own. She gave a little gasp under his mouth before being completely smothered by his fire.
He wanted her, she understood in amazement. And it was not the fact that she was capable of attracting a man which surprised her—for she well knew her own value—but that it was this particular man, who had already filled her with a tempestuous rage, was now capable of making her feel quite another way. Of unlocking her with his lips, making her feel like a quivering flame within a frail woman's body, smoldering with a burning desire she had not even known she was capable of possessing.”
― Fenna Edgewood

“He was gleamingly, smolderingly beautiful, like a pure medieval knight or a young King Arthur stepping off the pages of a painting.
Though it was always Lancelot who was shown with fair hair like Linden's, those long strands of dark gold and amber softening the hard planes of his warrior-strong face. Did Lancelot have a mouth like Linden's? Full and strong and sensual? Suggesting unspeakable delights if one could only unlock the man who possessed it?
Was it a mouth like this which undid Guinevere?”
― Fenna Edgewood, Once Upon a Midwinter's Kiss

“What fools men were to look only for diamonds when a precious pearl stood right before them.”
― Fenna Edgewood, Mistakes Not to Make When Avoiding a Rake

“He tasted like every wicked thought she’d ever had, only better.”
― Fenna Edgewood, Kiss Me, My Duke

“He knew how he wanted to kiss her. Forcefully, demandingly, with everything he had, in a way that would require her wholehearted response.
But he knew how he should kiss her.
Gently. Softly. Irreproachably.”
― Fenna Edgewood, A Duke for All Seasons

“Love? Was that what it was? Willingly forgiving another? Accepting them as they were?
While also wanting to kiss them until you were both breathless?”
― Fenna Edgewood, Mistakes Not to Make When Avoiding a Rake

“Laurel stood on stage. She was very still. Her lovely blue eyes were lowered modestly. Her silver blonde hair fell in disheveled curls around her face, white roses and strands of pearls woven artfully throughout. A necklace of what looked like diamonds clasped her slender throat while white kid gloves were drawn up to her elbow. She held a fan of frosted silver in one hand, dangling at her side.
Her dress was a shimmering sapphire blue, and it fit her exquisitely, molding to her form, hugging her small bosom and lifting her breasts until they appeared ready to spill from the satin bodice. A silver braided sash cinched her waist, emphasizing its narrowness.
And then, she lifted her head, raised the hand that held the fan, then the other one and, tipping her head back, opened her eyes.
They were haunting and luminous, soft in the candlelight. Her skin was pale and smooth.
The crowd was utterly quiet, watching her.
And then, she began to sing.
If Dare had thought Laurel Spencer beautiful before, now she became goddess-like to him in an instant as a melody so heart-wrenching and lovely spilled forth from her lips.”
― Fenna Edgewood, Kiss Me, My Duke

“Claire… It is not what you think. Won’t you please allow me to explain? Please. Allow me to speak with you.”
It was more tempting than she liked.
“There is nothing to say. We both know what I saw.”
She paused.
“Now go away.” Her tone was as aloof as she could manage between tears that would not stop.
She saw the handle turn.
“Don’t you dare!” She took a pre-emptive step back.
But he did dare. The door opened slowly.
“Are you…dressed?”
“Of course, I am dressed!” she said furiously. “I am packing. Kindly have a carriage ordered.” It was a lie but he would not know that. Her case was still open on the window seat.
He pushed the door open wider.
He did not look like a man who had come from the arms of another woman. His face was not flushed with desire. It looked rather drawn in fact.
But what did she know of such things? Perhaps that woman had merely exhausted him.
“I did not invite her here, Claire. I did not even know she was coming.”
He pushed locks of dark hair from his eyes. Claire bit her lip, thinking of how she had looked forward to touching those waves, brushing it possessively off his face herself.
“Serafina does what she pleases. As you can see, she has no sense of propriety or discretion. She believes she owns Isabel and I even still. Even though, after her unforgiveable actions, she quite thoroughly relinquished rights to us both some time ago. I do not believe Isabel has pardoned her yet. I certainly will not.”
He looked at her, eyes wide and beseeching. Not a hint of pride or arrogance.
“She does not want me to be happy without her, Claire,” he said softly. “She must have found out I was to be married and she came with all haste. This is exactly what she was hoping for—or nearly so. When you walked in…”
“Oh? Nearly so?” Fury twisted inside her. “I apologize for intruding so unexpectedly, for interrupting your passionate liaison. I suppose if Isabel and I had not walked in, you would still be there even now. On the floor together perhaps.”
Thomas looked taken aback, then angry. “Of course not! Do you really think me so…? Is that what you believe, Claire? You did exactly what Serafina hoped you would do. Reacted with anger and jealousy, blamed me, and stormed out.”
“Jealousy!” Claire exclaimed, drawing herself up. “I assure you—I am not jealous in the least. If she wants you, she is welcome to have you. I did not want you in the first place, as you will recall.”
He flinched. If she did not know better, she might almost have believed him to be hurt.
She swallowed hard.
“What have I to be jealous of? The fact that you prefer your mistress to…” Oh, no. Her voice was catching in her throat. “…to… me…” She hiccupped embarrassingly, tears flowing over.
All of a sudden Thomas’s arms were around her, holding her firmly to his chest. “Claire… No, no…” he whispered.
Her cheek was pressed up rather roughly against his tailcoat. He smelled so good. She closed her eyes, her body relaxing against him.
There was another smell there. An overpoweringly sweet scent of lilacs. She pushed herself away, hands against his chest.
“You smell of her.”
He looked horrified.
Horrified that he did? Or horrified that she had noticed? Did he smell of her from head to toe?
Claire felt nauseous.”
― Fenna Edgewood, Mistakes Not to Make When Avoiding a Rake

“This would not do. She would have to learn to control it.
She could not go around feeling such uncontrollable swells of feeling for her husband.
Especially not when such feelings stirred up desires and when desires became deeds.
Deeds like secretly kissing her husband in his bed while he was sleeping.”
― Fenna Edgewood, To All the Earls I've Loved Before

“Are you mad?” Briar gasped. “I’m not going to marry either of you!” She shook her head frantically. “I have no plans to marry in the immediate future. I most certainly will not limit my prospects to… to… Well, I’m sorry Percy, but…”
“Me?” Percy retorted. He pointed across the carriage. “What about him? He’s a gardener! You can’t tell me you prefer him to me.”
“Neither of us are ideal suitors,” Wren said firmly. “I am sure on that Percy and I can agree.”
“Well, I certainly—” Percy began, only to be silenced by a glare from Wren. He pursed his lips.
“But yer prospects, I’m afraid, Lady Briar, are limited to the men in this carriage. Or I suppose ye could extend yer field of choice to the men riding with us. Though some are sure to be married already. Angus, for one.”
“Angus!” Briar exclaimed. “I have no wish to marry Mr. Macleod, thank you very much. Not that he isn’t a good man in his way, I’m sure,” she added hastily.
“Oh, yes,” Percy said dryly. “He has only kidnapped you and Mr. Spencer here, then gone back on his word to me. He’s sure to make you a wonderful husband.”
“Shut up, Percy,” Briar snapped. “I am not taking a husband.”
“Ye shall, and ye must,” Wren said tersely. “It’s no’ a matter of wanting or no’ wanting. Ye’ve been placed in a terrible position, Lady Briar. What would yer brother say?”
“He’d likely just shoot first and talk later,” Briar said sweetly. “And in this case, I might not blame him. I have reached the point in our journey where I should like nothing more than to be taken back home. Preferably immediately.”
― Fenna Edgewood, Lady Briar Weds the Scot

“I was so lonely,” he heard her say, and he felt her body shaking. “There seemed no point in saying yes, no point in saying no. So, I simply did as he wanted.”
“Your father?” Henry said, with understanding, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her hair gently. He held her close, in the dark of the foyer, letting his hands and his arms speak for him.
She was safe, they said. She was loved, they said. He would never let her feel that way again.
He felt her nodding.
She lifted her head. “You did not let me finish before,” she said, her eyes widening with some unspoken news. “In the alcove. You distracted me.”
She hit him playfully on the chest as he grinned at the memory of how he had indeed distracted them both.
“But I had been trying to tell you…” She began.
“Wait,” Henry said, with a frown. “Did you hear that?”
“What?” She said, looking ever so slightly annoyed. “Let me finish this time, please, Henry.”
“A baby,” he said, looking around the foyer wildly. “I thought I heard a baby.”
He looked back and was shocked to see her looking unconcerned.”
― Fenna Edgewood, Masks of Desire

“He kissed her bottom lip, stroked it with his tongue. “You are so beautiful. When is the last time someone told you that?”
“Hmm, I believe a gentleman on a London street may have suggested something of the sort,” she said, with faux sweetness. He loved her sauciness. “In deed if not word.”
“He should have said it out loud,” Cross murmured. “In front of everyone. He should have shouted it from the street corner, to all who would listen. Cherry Lambe is a beautiful, beautiful woman.”
“Yes, I’m sure that would have gone over well,” she whispered. “I can see the headline now. Duke draws attention to himself over infatuation with female journalist gone rogue.”
“Infatuation?” he said, delighted. “Is that what you would describe this as?”
He could almost hear her blushing in the shadowy room.
“Well, I did not mean to presume…” She sounded wonderfully embarrassed.
He lowered his lips to her ear. “It is all right, Mrs. Lambe. I assure you. It’s true. I am infatuated with you. Consumed, in fact.”
Lovesick. Besotted. He could go on, but decided it would be unwise.”
― Fenna Edgewood, The Duke Report

“Perita is the dog,” Gracie said, in a tone which implied Rosalind was a dimwit for having not immediately understood this.

“You packed for a dog. Yes, I see.” The young dog was a lovely chocolate brown with the typical black mastiff mask. “She has quite a big head,” Rosalind observed.

“Of course, she does.” Gracie sounded affronted by her sister’s ignorance. “That’s the breed. Her mother, Medea, was even bigger than Hercules, you know.”

Rosalind was impressed. Hercules was the size of a small pony. At least, that’s how it seemed when he was flying through the halls of Sweetbriar and came barreling unexpectedly around a corner.

“Why Perita? Don’t you mean Perdita?”

“Not Shakespeare, silly. Alexander the Great.” Gracie was looking disgusted once more. “Well, his was Peritas as it was male. I’ve feminized it. Did you know Peritas bit off an elephant’s face when it tried to charge Alexander once?”

“Bit it off?”

“Probably not completely off. At least, I hope not. But I suppose it would have been justified if Peritas was protecting his master from being trampled to death,” Gracie said, looking thoughtful. “I’m sure Perita would do the very same for me. Or you.” She rubbed the pup’s head affectionately.

“Yes. How lovely.” Rosalind decided not to imagine what a faceless elephant would look like.”
― Fenna Edgewood, The Seafaring Lady's Guide to Love

“You loved me for me, no matter who that was. You fought for me. You almost died for me. My heart was yours from the moment I met you. I gave it, freely, never expecting to receive yours in return. Now I ask you to be my husband, for I am desperate to be your beloved wife. With the two of us bound together as one, we will never lack for joy. We will take on any sorrow, any challenge, and face it together. I love you, Linden Chevalier. Have I said that already?”
― Fenna Edgewood, Once Upon a Midwinter's Kiss

“It hurt to look at him. Hurt to know he wanted her but would not risk the pain of heartbreak a second time.
Well, Briar Blakeley had already lost her heart to her husband. And she would be damned if she was going to be the only one in this marriage to do so.”
― Fenna Edgewood, Lady Briar Weds the Scot

“She wanted to preserve that moment, the moment just before, when everything was still possible and perfect.”
― Fenna Edgewood, Kiss Me, My Duke

“Gracie's first thought was that it was unfair a man should have such a sinfully beautiful mouth.
Her next was that it was made for seduction and unspeakable delights.
And her third was that it was made for despair—for despair was what she could not help but feel as she stared at this young man, who seemed a strange and uncanny reflection of herself. Not only a more perfect specimen of manhood than she could ever pretend to be in her feigned garb, but a man who reflected her very soul back to her without even seeming to realize it, more herself than she was, yet in the way that fire complimented frost, or the ocean reflected the stars.”
― Fenna Edgewood, Once Upon a Midwinter's Kiss

“When a man prepared to duel, he would bring a second. When Claire met with the Mortons, she would bring a sister.
Heaven help Charles Morton if he tried to cross them both.”
― Fenna Edgewood, Mistakes Not to Make When Avoiding a Rake

“They were close enough that she could finally see him clearly.
Her eyes took in the sight of the Scot, standing tall in full Highland dress.
“Oh, delightful,” she muttered to herself. She was at her worst, with seaweed hair streaming water, while Wren had apparently decided to put on his Sunday best.
And didn’t he look absolutely magnificent!
If her heart had not already been doing troublesome things before, it was pounding in brazen excitement as she looked at him now.
This was her husband. Dear Lord. This was her husband.
He was always a very striking man. The cleft of his chin. His sturdy Roman nose. The softness of his dark, sooty lashes over those gorgeous blue eyes. His height, his breadth, his width. His girth? Briar almost giggled. Shush, she told herself.
But now? Gracious, he was unbearably handsome.
There was something about a man in a kilt. Especially the way Wren was wearing it. The dark green Renfrew plaid, shot through with its strands of red and white and gold, was already a lovely thing. Against Wren's form, contrasted against his dark hair, it was a god's finery. Every pleat, every fold fitting his leanly muscled physique.
She swallowed hard, then took another step.”
― Fenna Edgewood, Lady Briar Weds the Scot

“She was infuriating, brash, overconfident. Incapable of manipulation, of pretense; the opposite of the woman he had believed he loved for so many years.”
― Fenna Edgewood, Mistakes Not to Make When Avoiding a Rake

“If their first kiss—which he had commanded—had been one born of passion, then this one was of love and it was she who led. There was love in the kiss and there was a promise: I will never do you wrong, her lips said. Have faith in me.”
― Fenna Edgewood, The Seafaring Lady's Guide to Love

“Briar waved a hand and gave a tinkling happy laugh. He flinched. This was unbearable. The lass was as fresh and pretty as a daisy and seemed just as oblivious to her own charms as a garden flower was, too.
She smelled much better than a daisy, however. Daisies were highly overrated flowers. When you got up close to one, they smelled disappointingly like manure. No, Briar Blakeley smelled like something delicious. Like something you wouldn’t mind popping straight into your mouth. Like cake baked with vanilla and cinnamon. Or a confectionary’s shop.
She was sweet as honey, probably twice as naive, and something about her was making his blood pound and his loins tighten. The sooner he could get rid of her the better.”
― Fenna Edgewood

“I am very disappointed, Philip,” she said, still stern.
“I know, Cherry,” he accepted. “But… she did claim she was my wife.”
“She did,” she acknowledged. “Knowing nothing of your history or who you were, she did say such a foolish thing.”
― Fenna Edgewood, The Seafaring Lady's Guide to Love

“This man brought out something wicked in her. A boldness of spirit long dormant.”
― Fenna Edgewood, The Seafaring Lady's Guide to Love

“off”
― Fenna Edgewood, The Gardner Girls Complete Box Set Collection

“The evidence was there before my eyes, but I could not believe it. I did not want to believe it. It was only when my sister forced the matter that I was compelled to accept the truth—that my wife had been seduced by my best friend, and was with child by him.”
― Fenna Edgewood, The Seafaring Lady's Guide to Love

“She cleared her throat, let go of the rail, and stood up straighter.
“Because I have come here today to ask you to marry me.”
His lips twitched.
“It is not funny,” she cried. It was, of course, but she did not wish to be laughed at. Particularly when he had not answered.
“You must admit, it is a little funny. To an outside party, we must be exceedingly comical.”
“Yes, well, it is the worry of an outside party that is the reason we are here in the first place,” she muttered, looking down at her feet.
A finger was placed gently under her chin, lifting her head up.
“Pray, continue.” His dark eyes were serious, his lips playful. It was an irresistible combination. “It is the first time I have been proposed to and I must admit I find the experience intriguing.”
Her eyes flashed. “I have already asked. It is now your turn to answer.”
His amused expression deepened.
“Oh, no. You have not asked. You merely announced your intention to ask. There is a large difference between stating the purpose of your visit and posing the question. Wouldn’t you say?”
― Fenna Edgewood, Mistakes Not to Make When Avoiding a Rake

“She was in bed, quite naked. A man’s mouth was roaming all over her, free as could be. Lips caressing her mouth, her neck, then covering her breasts.
Her arms were wrapped around him, her hands tangled in his thick dark hair.
She gave a little moan and rolled over.
A little too far over.
She landed on the floor with a thud.”
― Fenna Edgewood

“Stop, Wren,” she sobbed, her eyes wide as she watched. “We’ll both die. Go back down. Please. I beg you. Leave me.”
“Never in a hundred thousand years,” he growled, his jaw clenched so tight he thought it would break.”
― Fenna Edgewood, Lady Briar Weds the Scot