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303 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 15, 2013

...maybe once the baby was born, he’d have her committed to Bedlam.You could hear the gears in my head grind to a halt. BEDLAM? BEDLAM? AN INSANE ASYLUM FOR A WIFE WHO BETRAYED HIM? Are you fucking serious? I'm supposed to like a man who would commit his wife to a hell of an institution for the mentally ill against her will? Let's face it, 19th century insane asylums are not a pleasant place to be, and any man who would do such a thing becomes instantly reprehensible in my eyes. I'm not going to like this guy.
"Do you think I felt no betrayal when my wife slept with other men? Do you think it wasn’t painful to be taunted by the knowledge of it? To receive the bland smiles of those I considered my friends, who had taken my wife into their beds? That I could not feel—that I still do not feel—the loss of my son, a life I valued more than my own?” His fingers tightened almost painfully on her arm.The dynamics change as they grow to like, then trust, then eventually love each other. But that love does not come cheaply. The danger is still there, the noose still threatens Truman's neck if he does not find the true murderer. The town itself is on edge against the Earl and his ownership of the mines. There is the constant knowledge of the social barrier between their love. There is so much within this book, and I loved almost every word of it.
“Stop, you’re hurting me,” she said, but he wasn’t hurting her. Not yet. She was just afraid he would. The pressure of his grip eased, but still Rachel could not twist out of his grasp.
“Not until you answer me. Do only the poor feel pain, Miss McTavish, while the rich know nothing but peace and happiness? By your own admission, you are an educated woman. Please, do not try to sell me that bag of rot.”
“How the mere thought of you has haunted me.”
Homines quod volunt credunt. (Men believe what they wish to believe).

Blackmoor Hall was a daunting edifice. Built in the Strawberry Hill Gothic style, with a little Palladian thrown in, its gray stone walls rose several stories high, extending along cliffs that fronted the ocean. Although most of the structure had been rebuilt after the fire, nothing looked new. Large, diamond-cut windows spaced symmetrically on two long wings collected snow in the cradle of their panes. At least half a dozen chimneys rose from the roof. And an elaborate portico sheltered the entrance. Ancient and overwhelming, the manse resembled something out of a history book, with tall columns, expansive gardens, fountains and Greek statues. Now, late as it was, the estate was dark and rather forbidding.
She wanted him to slide his hands up her arms, to pull off her nightgown and smooth that ointment all over her body.
What if she were to tell him shed fallen in love with him? That she thought of him constantly
Rachel: “The last time we were together, I wasn’t as aware of what was happening as I wish I would’ve been.”
The Lord: “If only I had the strength to make myself tell you to leave. This isn’t fair to you.” (wtf happened to Mr. Rochester).
Rachel: “I’m not sure it does (she is talking about preserving her honor), not if I’m spreading my legs for you every night in my dreams,” she said and her nightdress hit the floor with a soft poof."
The earl had turned up the collar of his coat to keep his neck warm, but he wore no scarf, and Rachel could see tiny, frozen crystals clinging to the shadow of a day’s beard growth.


"I hope you can find what's missing."
When she glanced back at him, a sad smile curved his lips. "I fear, if I lose you, I never will."