Charlotte Greene Quotes

“My lord? Are you all right?"
Rothbury inhaled the fresh, almost lemon-tinged air wafting before him, the scent seeping deep into his lungs coaxing forth an unexpected pang of responsiveness.
Eyes of sapphire blurred and spun before his gaze. "'Tempt not a desperate man.'"
"I believe that's enough Shakespeare for one evening, my lord."
For a moment the air seemed to sparkle about her head, causing him added confusion. "Are you an angel?" he heard himself mutter.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“It was about time he opened his eyes to see just to whom he was speaking.
After several quick blinks, he managed to do just that, gazing up into a small, heart-shaped face. A pretty face. Not one of a curvy seductress or a cool-hearted courtesan, but a feminine, delicately featured face. He knew this face. He adored this face.
"Miss Charlotte Greene," he stated finally, taking a risk and raising his head to get a better look.
Sitting at his side, the white skirt of her thick night rail tucked around her legs, she smiled down at him with concerned eyes of deep blue. Gorgeous sapphire eyes often hidden behind the rims of small, round spectacles.
Truthfully, she happened to be the complete opposite of what he was usually attracted to. She was a bit too thin, too short, and too quiet for his tastes, which had always leaned toward the voluptuous, the tall, and the spirited. Normally, she wasn't one to stand out. And he rather suspected she preferred it that way.
However, while most young bucks readily discounted her merits and furtively joked about her quirky behavior behind her back, Rothbury had always sensed a subtle undercurrent of passion in her dark blue gaze. Unlike the "diamonds" of the ton and demimonde, who slinked across assembly rooms completely aware of their beauty and the power that accompanied it, Miss Greene moved like a woman who hadn't yet realized how utterly fetching she truly was. She clung to the walls, sometimes barely raising her eyes from the floor, rarely spoke but to her closest friends, and shied away from situations that demanded she converse with the opposite sex.
Strange it was for him to notice those facets in such an unassuming woman. Strange it was he should have noticed her at all. But he always did. The second she walked into a room.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Oh, thank you! Thank you," she chirped, surprising him by bounding across the room and clasping him tight for a quick hug.
His arms hung heavy and loose at his sides during her gentle siege.
Rothbury had enchanted exotic opera singers into returning to his bed time and again. He had warmed coldhearted courtesans into confessing their undying love and he had seduced a number of beautiful, feisty women who were just as fickle in picking their lovers as he was. But Charlotte's hug unsettled him, knocked him off balance, one might say.
He didn't want her to let go. But he wouldn't dare bring up his arms to hold her either. Without a doubt he knew if he indulged himself, all he felt, all he thought, would be exposed in the warmth of his embrace. And then there would be no turning back. He would be bared, revealed, humiliated.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Rothbury inhaled the familiar lemon-tinged air wafting before him. He remained silent, ignoring the zing of awareness thrumming through him, and listened for the sound of footfalls instead.
Whoever had entered the room, it was definitely a young woman. He'd bet one of his prized Arabians on it, but it wasn't Cordelia. She smelled perpetually of pungent roses, which he had been partial to in the beginning of their short love affair, but which now merely reminded him that the woman connected to it was just as clingy and thorny as the flower itself.
But this scent- he inhaled deeply as it now surrounded him- inspired contentment, which was a miracle in itself, considering all he wanted to do presently was break free, find Lady Gilton, and throttle her elegant neck.
"Who's there?" Rothbury demanded, his tone firm but quiet. He pulled at the twisted silk binds holding his wrists together behind him, noting they were finally starting to tear. "Come now," he said in a tone he used on skittish horses. "Tell me who's there.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Shortly, she passed what she assumed was the center: a wide expanse of lawn, a white garden bench at each end, and a circular pond enlivened with water lilies and irises. Just like the rest of Aubry Park, at least what she had seen of it, the center of the labyrinth was a charming surprise. A place where she might be inclined to sit and read under other circumstances.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Her bottom lip started to tremble and she made a tiny, heart-breaking squeak of a sound.
"Shhhhh," he said in a whisper of air, sounding, even to his own ears, like a wolf comforting a lamb right before he devoured her.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Am I dead?"
A beat of silence, then came the soft hush of rustling fabric. It sounded as if she surrounded him. Her scent certainly did, delicate citrus and warmth.
Mmm. He smiled. "You smell like sunshine."
What a ridiculous thing to say. Maybe he was dead... and in heaven.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Visions of a slumbering Miss Greene drifted through his thoughts. He imagined that her wheat-colored hair would be unbound, streaming across the pillow like a golden banner. He rather thought she'd toss around in her sleep a lot, which would cause her nightdress to become rucked up to her hips, revealing her thighs, smooth as cream, and her silky-”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Men and women cannot be friends. It is impossible."
Her brow furrowed. "And why not?"
He bit back a smile. Lord, she was an easy one to fool. If he had a mind to fool her, that is. She was so gullible; he had no idea how she made it through life so far without being compromised, fleeced, or coerced into buying a three-legged horse at least a half a dozen times.
He cleared his throat to keep a cynical grin from creeping in. "Because, my sweet, sweet naive creature, lust would, undoubtedly, get in the way. You've heard of lust, correct?"
Pressing her lips together, she nodded. "Of course."
"Damn. I should have liked to explain it to you in excruciating detail. Showing you examples, of course."
"Lust is a sin."
"Yes, indeed it is. My favorite one.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“With the ease of a man who could size up a woman and her worth within seconds, Rothbury's gaze raked the wispy-thin Miss Greene, from her pale ringlets dangling from a bonnet made droopy by too many lacy ribbons down to her silk slippers peeking out from under her frilly hem.
"She is more like a meek lamb than her costume suggests," Tristan remarked with a chuckle.
"Perhaps." Rothbury watched as she caught his smile and then looked behind her, apparently searching for what, or rather whom, he was looking at. "No, sweetheart," he murmured under his breath, "I'm looking at you.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Just as he was about to grasp the door handle, the toe of his boot nudged something that clunked. He looked down, astonishment washing over his face.
The light scent of lemons.
As he stood there staring down at the damning shepherd's crook, a myriad of feelings coursed through him. He was bewildered. Shocked. Mystified. In a state of disbelief. And, he might as well admit, incredibly aroused.
His mouth quirked with a lopsided grin as he bent to pluck it from the floor. Sweet Lord, he had found his mystery woman.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Rothbury's admiration had grown gradually, steadily, despite his efforts to ignore her. Never quick to judge, she was kind, she was sincere, she was secretly funny, and quite observant. She was the only woman of his acquaintance, the only person really, to whom he had ever revealed even the smallest hint of what he was truly feeling.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“Upon reaching her, he stilled, bewildered by her beauty.
She wore a light blue gown with short cap sleeves and a plunging bodice; a band of lace stretched across the top was meant to disguise her bosom, but only served to tease him.
Another narrow band of lace was wrapped around her delicate throat, and her golden locks had been swept up neatly. Tiny pearls had been tucked here and there within the curls piled atop her head. She looked elegant and refined and... and all he wanted to do was strip her naked and lick her from top to bottom.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl