Grace Burrowes > Quotes

“I love you, he thought, because you are honest with me and because you are willing to speak the truth to me when others might seek to curry favor instead. I love you because you are in this bed with me, not trying to conceive the much-awaited next generation of Windhams, but just holding my hand.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Heir

“Even when I cried,” she said, a world of resignation in her tone, “I was glad to be here with you, Westhaven. Believe that, if you believe nothing else of me.”

What she had meant was: Even when I cried because I must leave you, I was glad to be here with you… Believe that if you believe nothing else of me when I find the courage to finally go.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Heir

“Is this all you want, Anna?” He brought his arms around her and urged her to lean into him. “Merely an embrace? I’ll understand it, if you do.”
“It isn’t merely an embrace,” she replied, loving the feel of his lean muscles and long bones against her body. “It is your embrace, and your scent, and the cadence of your breathing, and the warmth of your hands. To me, there is nothing mere about it.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Heir

“You like this darkness. You like learning me by feel.” Feeling very bold indeed, she nuzzled at him until she found his mouth with her own. “I like it too.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Captive

“I've been foolish."

"I hope you at least had a grand time being foolish.”
― Grace Burrowes, Once Upon a Tartan

“He was a hand-holder; she'd gathered that much. Lovely quality in a man...”
― Grace Burrowes, The Bridegroom Wore Plaid

“This was wrong, dangerous, stupid...and necessary to the survival off her soul.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“You have a certain lot in life, my lord. Some of it you chose, some you did not, and much of it you did not realize you were choosing. Still, it is your lot in life, and you must make the best of it.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Duke's Obsession Bundle

“Books change lives.”
― Grace Burrowes, Douglas: Lord of Heartache

“For a moment, she stood where she'd landed, like some drunken bee in the vicinity of its preferred blossom.”
― Grace Burrowes, Matthew

“I have been a widower for nigh fifty years, but I am never alone. We had eight good years together, and they’ve lasted me the entire eighty. It’s like that, you see, when you can marry where your heart lies.”
― Grace Burrowes, Gabriel: Lord of Regrets

“How lovely, to meet a man who helped rather than fussed and scolded.”
― Grace Burrowes, Tremaine's True Love

“You worry me, Mags, so self-contained and quiet. Hazelton would not have been my choice for you."

"Why not?"

"He's a man who dwells in the shadows and appears to like it there. You have enough shadows of your own."

"Maybe he sees me as I really am because shadows don't deter him.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“The sound of her voice was so pretty, it almost disguised the ugliness of her words.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“Proper mourning leaves one nothing to do but mourn, and I’ve concluded this isn’t a good thing. Grief crowds in closely enough without the rest of life being shoved aside to make way for it.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Bridegroom Wore Plaid

“When Vim got to the back gate, he turned amid all that sunshine, and his gaze sought out the parlor window. Sophie waved, and emulating the idiot gesture of mothers everywhere, raised Kit’s hand in a little wave too. Vim blew them a kiss, slipped through the gate, and disappeared. She”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish

“What else do you like?” She blew out a breath, her expression considering while Vim used the brush in long strokes from her crown to her hips. It was beautiful hair, thick, lustrous, and gleaming with an indication of basic health and sound living. “I like music,” she said, “and sweets. I am quite partial to sweets.” Vim took this answer for a deliberate and charming prevarication. “I meant, what do you like from your lovers? Shall I kiss you all over? Shall you bind my wrists and have your way with me?” He leaned down and nuzzled her neck, the braid he’d been fashioning forgotten. “Shall you put your mouth on me, Sophie, and make me forget myself utterly?” She sat very still while Vim slid a hand over her shoulder and let it rest there, just above her breast while he pressed his cheek to hers. “My love, are you blushing?” “You are very bold, Mr. Charpentier.” He straightened, feeling it imperative that he braid up her hair, so he might have the pleasure of unbraiding it once they’d gained the bed. “I like your hands on me,” he volunteered. “There’s a particular quality to your touch I can’t quite describe. There’s… meaning in it.” “Meaning?” She regarded him in the mirror, her blush fading. “That’s not the right word. Some people can calm a nervous horse with their touch. They communicate to the animal with hands, tone of voice, and posture in ways more substantial than words. Your hands on me feel that way—more substantial than words.” She turned and pressed her forehead to his midriff. “You must not say such things.” He stroked his palm over her crown, holding her half-finished braid with the other hand. “Why not, Sophie?” “You simply must not.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish

“I will serenade you from the street, Maggie Windham. I will be so callow, you will marry me to save me from embarrassment.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal

“This is a friendly forty winks, Mrs. FitzEngle.” He snagged her wrist. “Join me.” She regarded him where he lay. “Ellen.” The teasing tone in Val’s voice faded. “I will not ravish you in broad daylight unless you ask it of me, though I would hold you.” She nodded uncertainly and gingerly lowered herself beside him, flat on her back. “You’re out of practice,” Val observed, rolling to his side. “We must correct this state of affairs if we’re to get our winks.” Before she could protest, he arranged her so she was on her side as well, his body curved around hers, her head resting on his bicep, his arm tucking her back against him. “The benefit of this position,” his said, speaking very close to her ear, “is that I cannot behold your lovely face if you want to confide secrets, you see? I am close enough to hear you whisper, but you have a little privacy, as well. So confide away, and I’ll just cuddle up and perhaps even drift off.” “You would drift off while I’m confiding?” “I would allow you the fiction. It’s one of the rules of gentlemanly conduct owed on summer days to napping companions.” His arm was loosely draped over her middle so he could sense the tension in her. “I can hear your thoughts turning like a mill wheel. Let your mind rest too, Ellen.” “I am unused to this friendly napping.” “You and your baron never stole off for an afternoon nap?” Val asked, his fingers tracing the length of her arm. “Never kidnapped each other for a picnic on a pretty day?” “We did not.” Ellen sighed as his fingers stroked over her arm again. “He occasionally took tea with me, though, and we often visited at the end of the day.” But, Val concluded with some satisfaction, they did not visit in bed or on blankets or with their clothes off. Ellen had much to learn about napping. His right hand drifted up to her shoulder, where he experimentally squeezed at the muscles joining her neck to her back. “Blazes,” he whispered, “you are strong. Relax, Ellen.” His right hand was more than competent to knead at her tense muscles, and when he heard her sigh and felt her relax, he realized he’d found the way to stop her mill wheel from spinning so relentlessly. “Close your eyes, Ellen,” he instructed softly. “Close your eyes and rest.” In minutes, her breathing evened out, her body went slack, and sleep claimed her. Gathering her a little more closely, he planted a kiss on her nape and closed his eyes. His hand wasn’t throbbing anymore, his belly was full, and he was stealing a few private moments with a pretty lady on a pretty day. God”
― Grace Burrowes, The Virtuoso

“Trenton," Nick said patiently, "it is simple: your pizzle, her quim, you both enjoy each other until you can't move. Nothing simpler. You have three children, for pity's sake, need I draw you diagrams?”
― Grace Burrowes, Trenton: Lord of Loss

“She's a veritable siren, if you don't mind a grumpy woman who enjoys wielding a knife with alarming skill.”
― Grace Burrowes, Trenton: Lord of Loss

“Not a mindless relinquishing of physical dignity in exchange for favors or pleasure, but an intentional vulnerability far more dangerous and lasting.”
― Grace Burrowes, Matthew

“Don't look at me like that, Augusta." He stood to pull his shirt over his head. "I don't deserve it. No mortal could deserve such an expression.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Bridegroom Wore Plaid

“You’d call this fellow out, whoever he is?”
“In a bloody heartbeat. When this silly house party is over, we’re going into Town and buying my duchess a handsome little pistol to carry in her reticule, and we’re showing her how to use it. Then we’ll explain bullwhips to her, and get her an archery set as well.”
Harlan took the terrace steps two at a time. “Noah, what are you going on about?”
“Marital bliss, Harlan, wooing my duchess, and the kind of family we are now.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Duke's Disaster

“It was a struggle to not fall in love with a man who was determined to be decent to her when what she sought was indulgence of her wanton nature.

Her recently discovered, very frustrated wanton nature, damn him.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Captive

“Soph?” Valentine’s voice called softly from the corridor. A moment later, a knock sounded on the door, and a moment after that, Val pushed the door open. Slowly—slowly enough she might have hastened to an innocent posture if she’d been, say, kissing the breath out of her guest. “Is the prodigy asleep yet?” “You were a prodigy,” she said, rising from the hearth. “Though now you’re just prodigiously bothersome. Lord Sindal was coming by to collect Kit for a night among you fellows.” “We fellows?” Val’s brows crashed down. “We fellows took turns the livelong freezing day, carrying that malodorous, noisy, drooling little bundle of joy inside our very coats. You should be missing him so badly you can’t let him out of your sight for at least a week of nights.” “Ignore your brother, my lady.” Vim rose off the hearth, and to Sophie’s eyes, looked very tall as he glared at Valentine. “We will be pleased to enjoy My Lord Baby’s company for the night, won’t we, Lord Valentine?” Valentine was not a stupid man, though he could be as pigheaded as any Windham male. Marriage was apparently having a salubrious effect on his manners, though. “If Sophie says I’ll be pleased to spend the night with that dratted baby, then pleased I shall be. Coming, Sindal?” And then, then, Vim kissed her. On the forehead, his eyes open and staring at Valentine the entire lingering moment of the kiss. “Sleep well, Sophie. We’ll take good care of Kit.” He lifted the cradle and departed. Sophie pushed the nappies at Valentine, ignored her brother’s puzzled, concerned, and curious looks, and pointed at the door without saying one more word. ***”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish

“Victor hadn’t exactly looked forward to death before, he was probably contemplating it a bit more fondly as the morning progressed.”
― Grace Burrowes, Douglas: Lord of Heartache

“Tell me now, Anna, he silently pleaded as she ran her finger over a rose petal. Tell me I could have a son, that we could have a son, a daughter, a baby, a future—anything.”
― Grace Burrowes, The Heir

“Damn all men forever to a place in hell so cold their nasty bits shrivel up and fall off,” Maggie muttered. She slid her arm around Sophie’s waist and walked her to the chaise by the hearth. “Shall I have the boys deal with Baron Sindal? They all love a good scrap, even Westhaven, though he’ll think it’s unbecoming of the Moreland heir to gang up on a man or even go at him one at time. They’ll likely draw straws, and Dev and Gayle will rig it so Valentine’s hands—” “Stop it, Maggie. You must not aggravate the menfolk,” Sophie said, laying her head on her sister’s shoulder.”
― Grace Burrowes, Lady Sophie's Christmas Wish

“Ye gods and little fishes.”
― Grace Burrowes, Matthew