Sayuri > Sayuri's Quotes

“Dear God, what she saw in that look! How he had hidden these many years behind the guise of a simple schoolmaster, she didn't know. Anger, passion, lust, and surging hunger swirled in his stormy eyes. Emotions so stark, so strong, she didn't understand how he kept them under control. He looked as if he were about to attack her, ravish her, and conquer London and the world itself. He could've been a warrior, a statesman, a king.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Thief of Shadows

“But he place a gentle palm under her chin and turned her face back to him. “I'm privileged to see you like this,” he said, his eyes fierce. “Wear you social mask at your balls and parties and when you visit your friends out there, but when we are alone, just the two of us in here, promise me this: that you'll show me only your real face, no matter how ugly you might think it. That's our true intimacy, not sex, but the ability to be ourselves when we are together. (Winter Makepeace)”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Thief of Shadows

“When you enter a room, all eyes turn to you. You blaze like a torch, lighting the darkest corners, brightening even those who thought they were already well lit. You bring joy and mirth and leave behind a glow that gives hope to those you left."
"And you, Mr. Makepeace? Are you one of those who thought themselves well lit?"
"I am as dark as a pit." Now he was glad her back was turned. "Even your torch will have difficulty lighting my depths.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Thief of Shadows

“But you must be awash in a sea of compliments, my lady. Every gentleman you meet must voice his admiration, his wish to make love to you. And those are only the ones who may voice such thoughts. All about you are men who cannot speak their admiration, who must remain mute from lack of social standing or fear of offending you. Only their thoughts light the air about you, following you like a trail of perfume, heady but invisible. (Winter Makepeace)”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Thief of Shadows

“It hardly mattered. She was tired of waiting for him to acknowledge who he was. Tired of donning a false mask of gaiety when she was so much more—felt so much more—beneath. No one had ever noticed her mask. No one but him. If he couldn’t or wouldn’t make the first move, then damn it, she would.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Thief of Shadows

“She stood in profile across the green, her back straight, her stance that of some long ago warrior maiden. As he walked toward her, Miss Greaves drew back her bow briskly, aiming a tad high to account for the wind, and let her arrow fly. Before it had hit the target, she’d notched another and shot it. A third followed just as rapidly. He glanced to the target. All three of her arrows were clustered together at the center of the red circle. Miss Greaves, who “did not shoot,” was a better shot than all the other ladies—and probably the men as well. He glanced from the target to her and saw that she stared back, proud and unsmiling. Artemis. She was named for the goddess of the hunt—a goddess who had slain without remorse her only admirer.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Midnight

“I'll never look at you in any way but complete admiration.” He stroked her hair soothingly. “You will never be a millstone about my neck. Rather you're the sunshine that brightens my day.” He swallowed. “Don't you see? You brought me into the daylight. You've embraced parts of me that I was never able to let see light. Don't make me retreat again into the night. (Winter Makepeace)”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Thief of Shadows

“Holding her gaze, he sheathed his short sword and pulled the gauntlet off his left hand with his teeth. He held out his bare hand to her.

She glanced at the proffered hand before laying her palm in his. Hot strength gripped her tightly as he pulled her upright before him, so close she would’ve had to move only inches to brush her lips across his throat. She watched the pulse of his blood beat there, strong and sure, before she lifted her gaze. His head was cocked almost as if he were examining her—searching for something in her face.

She drew in a breath, parting her lips to ask a question.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Midnight

“I love you,” she said, speaking clearly so that there might be no confusion. “I love you utterly and completely. I love your elegant hands and the way you smile with only one side of your mouth — when you smile at all — and I love how grave your eyes are. I love that you let me invade your house with nearly my entire family and yours, and never even turned a hair. I love that you made love to me when I asked you, purely for politeness’ sake, and I love that you got mad at me later and made me make love to you. I love that you let Her Grace and her puppies construct a nest out of your shirts in your dressing room. I love that you’ve spent years selflessly saving people in St. Giles — although I want you to stop right now. I love that you killed a man for me, even if I’m still mad at you about it. I love that you saved my letters before we even knew each other well, and I love the curt, overly serious letters you wrote to me in return.”

She looked at him very seriously.

“I love you, Godric St. John, and now I’m breaking my word. I will not leave you. You may either come with me to Laurelwood or I’ll stay here with you in your musty old house in London and drive you mad with all my talking and relatives and… and exotic sexual positions until you break down and love me back, for I’m warning you that I’m not giving up until you love me and we’re a happy family with dozens of children.”

She paused at that point because she’d run out of breath and looked at him.

His face had gone still and for a moment her heart sank and she had to fortify herself for a battle.

But then his mouth quirked like that and he said, “Exotic sexual positions?”

And she knew even before he said anything else that it was all going to be fine—more than fine. It was going to be wonderful.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Lord of Darkness

“His eyes were dark, dangerous, and not at all cold. He burned with an internal inferno she wanted to touch. She stared into the gaze of a tiger and knew, even as she watched the cat retreat into the camouflage of a gentleman: The Duke of Wakefield was the Ghost of St. Giles.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Midnight

“Behave, Miss Greaves,” he murmured under his breath, his voice husky and deep. “Fine words for a man who runs about St. Giles at night in a mask,” she whispered. He frowned, glancing around. “Hush.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Midnight

“Overhead the moon guided him, his fair mistress, his unattainable lover.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Midnight

“Please remember that just because love isn't expressed doesn't mean it isn't felt.”
― elizabeth hoyt, Wicked Intentions

“He watched her retreat, his eyes lazy, and his body unmoving. A trickle of blood seeped slowly from the corner of his mouth. He let her get nearly out of the room before he spoke, “I may not have the right, Silence, me love,” he drawled so soft she nearly didn’t catch the words. “But I would’ve listened to ye. I would’ve believed ye.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Scandalous Desires

“She swallowed, watching as the servants and Harry and Bert trooped out of the room. Lad, apparently not the brightest dog in the world, sat down next to Mickey O’Connor and leaned against his leg.

Mr. O’Connor looked at the dog, looked at the damp spot growing on his breeches where the dog was leaning, and sighed. “I find me life is not as quiet as it used to be afore ye came to me palace, Mrs. Hollingbrook.”

Silence lifted her chin. “You’re a pirate, Mr. O’Connor. I cannot believe your life was ever very quiet.”

He gave her an ironic look. “Aye, amazin’, isn’t it? Yet since yer arrival me servants no longer obey me and I return home to find me kitchen flooded.” He crossed to a cupboard and took down a china teapot, a tin of tea, and a teacup. “And me dog smells like a whorehouse.”

Silence glanced guiltily at Lad. “The only soap we could find was rose scented.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Scandalous Desires

“Good.” He straddled her, caging her with his body. “Were it up to me, all of London would know what we do here.

-Griffin to Hero.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Notorious Pleasures

“Goggie!” she exclaimed, holding both hands out urgently to Lad, who’d been dozing by the fire.

“By all means,” Michael replied amicably, as if he and Mary were having a conversation. “Let’s bring the mutt with us, as well. He’s almost presentable now that he stinks o’ roses.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Scandalous Desires

“Still, it was a sad state of the world that people judged others not by the best that they could be but by the worst thought in their own hearts.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Thief of Shadows

“Now I’ll just have to do without.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m sorry?”

Then Maximus did something very strange: he went on one knee before her.

“This isn’t right at all,” he said, continuing to glare as if he found it all her fault.

She sat up. “What are you doing?”

“Artemis Greaves, will you do me the honor of —”

“Are you insane?” she demanded. “What of your father? Your conviction that you must marry for the dukedom?”

“My father is dead,” he said softly. “And I’ve decided the dukedom can go hang.”

“But —”

“Hush,” he snapped. “I’m trying to propose to you properly even without my mother’s necklace.”

“But why?” she asked...

“I know that this is rather disappointing,” he said. “But I intend to make you respectable.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Midnight

“Sir?"
"Yes"
"Where do you go at night?"
Winter paused and glanced over his shoulder. Joseph was watching him with perceptive eyes for one so young.
In that instant, Winter grew tired of lies. "I right wrongs."
He expect more questions--Joseph was usually full of them and his answer was too obscure--but the boy merely nodded. "Will you teach me how sometime?"
Winter's eyes widened. Teach him to...? His mind instantly balked at the thought of putting Joseph in danger. But were he ever to ask for an apprentice to his Ghost, he knew instinctively that he could find no one with more courage than the lad.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Thief of Shadows

“You should leave her entirely."

Caire's mouth twisted humourlessly. "I find I cannot."

"Why?" St. John shook his head. "She isn't even your type."

"What is my type?"

St. John glanced away. They both knew well enough the kind of women Caire favoured.

"There's something about her," Caire said in a low voice. "She cares for everyone about her, yet neglects herself. I want to be the one who cares for her.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Wicked Intentions

“Maximus turned to the house, thinking. He had no idea how he would do it yet, but he meant to best her. He’d show her that he was the master, and when she’d admitted his victory… well, then he’d have her. And he’d hold her, by God. His huntress. His goddess.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Midnight

“She couldn’t very well get up and leave him without causing a scene, but she dearly wanted to. “Well, then, in the interests of fairness, perhaps you ought to know, Your Grace, that I have no intention of yielding the field to you.” Beside her he inclined his head a fraction of an inch. “Then en garde, Miss Greaves.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Midnight

“The masculine voice was low but clear, capturing the senses, running along the back of her neck like a caress, making her shiver in delight. Artemis very much feared she was gaping. The Duke of Wakefield had a voice to make angels—or devils—weep. It wasn’t the type of male voice currently admired—for the high, unnatural voice of the musico was the rage of London at the moment—but his was the sort of voice that would always seduce the ear. Sure and strong, with a vibrating masculinity on the low notes. She could sit and listen to a voice like this for hours.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Midnight

“I found it after the soldiers came and I kept it. I don’t know why because at that point I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again. But then when I uncovered it this morning, I knew… that is…” She reached out and flipped the pages of the notebook until the last page lay open in his hands. She’d written something there. He bent and read. I love you, Beast. I love you, Caliban. I love you, Apollo. I love you, Romeo. I love you, Smith. I love you, Gardener. I love you, Aristocrat. I love you, Lover. I love you, Husband. I love you, Friend. I love you, You. He inhaled and looked up. She was twisting her hands together. “For a writer, I’m awfully ineloquent. I don’t know—” He dropped the notebook and pulled her into his arms, kissing her passionately. He held her sweet face between his palms and caressed her temples with his thumbs as he opened his mouth over hers, inhaling her gasp. When at last he drew back, he whispered against her lips, “Do you know where we are?” “Yes,” she murmured, her eyes closed. “At the heart of the maze.” And when she opened her lichen-green eyes he saw all the love he’d ever hoped for shining in her eyes just for him. “At your heart—and mine.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Darling Beast

“Good Lord, His Grace the Ass hiding in the bushes,” Apollo muttered. “Whatever are you doing here?” “Ah, Kilbourne, you’ve regained your voice,” Wakefield drawled. “Pity, but I presume my wife is thrilled. And you are?” He looked pointedly at Montgomery.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Darling Beast

“He inhaled and spoke without thinking, ignoring their audience. “What has happened?” “You know full well, Your Grace, for what—who—I fight.” Her eyes were glittering and he couldn’t believe it, but the evidence was clear. Tears. His goddess should never weep. He took her arm. “Artemis.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Midnight

“Very well.” Artemis blinked, her sweet lips parting as if she didn’t believe what she’d heard. “What?” “I’ll do it.” He turned to go, his mind already making plans, when he felt her fingers clutch at his sleeve. “You’ll take him from Bedlam?” “Yes.” Perhaps his decision had already been made from the moment he’d seen tears in her eyes. He had a weakness, it seemed, a fault more terrible than any Achilles’s heel: he couldn’t stand the sight of her tears.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Midnight

“If you would take one step forward, darling, you could cry in my arms. And while you do, I'll tell you how sorry I am for everything I've done -" Unable to wait, Ian caught her, pulling her tightly against him. "And when I'm finished," he whispered hoarsely as she wrapped her arms around him and wept brokenly, "you can help me find a way to forgive myself."
Tortured by her tears, he clasped her tighter and rubbed his jaw against her temple, his voice a ravaged whisper: "I'm sorry," he told her. He cupped her face between his palms, tipping it up and gazing into her eyes, his thumbs moving over her wet cheeks. "I'm sorry." Slowly, he bent his head, covering her mouth with his. "I'm so damned sorry.”
― Judith McNaught, Almost Heaven

“Some people feel love in their hearts, Julie. Some of us feel it all way into our souls. We're the ones who can't forget.”
― Judith McNaught, Paradise