Grace And Matthew Quotes

“I know my heart, Matthew. I know what I feel won't change." She took a shuddering breath and extended one unsteady hand in his direction. Her voice shook with intensity. "When I tell you I love you, that means I'll love you forever."
What does a man do when his dearest dreams come true?
Matthew stared at her outstretched hand. He'd never imagined this time would come. He wasn't prepared. Her words soaked into his soul, slowly turning the parched desert there into a verdant garden.
"You love me," he said slowly, wonderingly. Then with greater certainty, "By God, you love me." His astonished laugh ended on a choked note as he snatched her hand.
"So much," she said huskily. Her fingers curled hard around his. "So very, very much."
He dragged her back into his arms. "I can't believe it."
"Believe it," she whispered. She raised her hands to frame his face so she could look into his eyes. The blue was so pure that he saw right to her gallant, steadfast soul. "I love you, Matthew. I will always love you."
"And I love you, Grace."
Such simple words to change his life. Yet after tonight, he'd never be the same man again.”
― Anna Campbell, Untouched: A Gothic Romance Where Forbidden Desire Becomes Dangerous Surrender

“Grace."
He drew out the word so it became a long, deep, guttural growl. A sound as primitive as a lion's roar for its mate. Her skin prickled with animal awareness and the breath caught in her throat. Every drop of moisture evaporated from her mouth. Low in her belly, blood began to beat slow and hard with anticipation.
Her face must have betrayed her unfurling arousal. Or perhaps, like her, he reacted to the sudden charge in the air, as electric as the pause before a lightning strike.
Still without shifting his fierce focus, he set down the box he carried. Then he reached to close the doors and slide the bolt across.
Any doubt as to his purpose fled. A delicious thrill rippled through her. The summerhouse was raised on a platform so the windows opened above eye height. With the doors locked, it was a bower designed for private sin.
Sin was clearly his aim.
Now she looked more closely, she realized it wasn't anger that tightened the skin over the bones of his face. It was incendiary hunger.
She should protest. Question. Demand he tell her why he was here. But overwhelming need kept her silent and pinned to the window seat.”
― Anna Campbell, Untouched: A Gothic Romance Where Forbidden Desire Becomes Dangerous Surrender

“All he noticed was Grace. Her exquisite skin, her slender curves wrapped in silk the color of sky, her lush mouth.
He ripped himself from his distraction and crossed to the sideboard to pour her wine. But invisible wires connected him to her. Wires that tightened infinitesimally with every breath so the effort of keeping his hands off her became more onerous by the second.”
― Anna Campbell, Untouched: A Gothic Romance Where Forbidden Desire Becomes Dangerous Surrender

“The mattress shifted as he turned to look at her. Perhaps the darkness would hide her weeping. A futile hope. She'd long ago noted the acuteness of his senses.
"Oh, my dear." Unerringly, he reached out and captured a tear in his fingers. Another tear, another. She closed her eyes and struggled for composure.
"Crying won't help," she said huskily.
"Sometimes it's all we can do." His voice caressed her like black silk.”
― Anna Campbell, Untouched: A Gothic Romance Where Forbidden Desire Becomes Dangerous Surrender

“Matthew emerged from sleep slowly, luxuriously. It must be nearly noon. He swam up from the depths of a calm warm sea. The glittering sea of the far south that he'd read about. A blue sea under a glorious sun. A sea full of pearls and exotic creatures and soft silky water.
And mermaids.
Indubitably there were mermaids in this sea.
His particular mermaid slept naked in his arms.
When he was inside her, she undulated in endless waves like a sea of pleasure.”
― Anna Campbell, Untouched: A Gothic Romance Where Forbidden Desire Becomes Dangerous Surrender

“She'd piled her hair high, leaving silky tendrils to tease bare shoulders. How he longed to festoon that slender neck with cascades of rubies. Rubies, diamonds, pearls, emeralds. Never sapphires. Not even the finest sapphires could rival the beauty of her eyes.
He had no jewels to offer, only his longing, loving heart.”
― Anna Campbell, Untouched: A Gothic Romance Where Forbidden Desire Becomes Dangerous Surrender

“I'm the first woman you've bedded. I'm almost the only woman you've seen in eleven years. Anyone would mistake the significance of his feelings. You want to make promises. You're a decent man. But when you resume your rightful position, you'll regret any commitment. You'll regret it even more when you fall in love with the woman fit to stand at your side."
He was genuinely angry now. "Unlike the Earl of Wyndhurst's daughter."
She flinched at his sarcasm then lifted her chin and faced him down. "Unlike the poor widow Grace Paget who was your mistress.”
― Anna Campbell, Untouched: A Gothic Romance Where Forbidden Desire Becomes Dangerous Surrender

“Mrs. Paget- Grace- had been with him all day and her presence had warmed his soul. But she'd remained withdrawn throughout the meal.
Who could blame her? His story must convince her she'd never escape. Yet he mourned her retreat from brief affinity. For one day, she'd been everything he desired in a companion. Intelligent. Sympathetic. Knowledgeable.
Beautiful.
He couldn't deceive himself that all he wanted was friendship. But friendship, by God, was something. If he could resign himself to captivity, he could resign himself to keeping her at a distance.
One day. Maybe in a thousand years.
Never.”
― Anna Campbell, Untouched: A Gothic Romance Where Forbidden Desire Becomes Dangerous Surrender

“We have to convince Monks and Filey we're lovers. I mean only to sleep here. You have my word you're safe from my advances."
Surprisingly, that full mouth quirked into a wry smile. "So we lie like Tristan and Yseult with a sword between us?"
Hard as it was, hard as he was, he couldn't help smiling at the absurd image. "I find myself currently embarrassed of a sword."
He didn't say that, in the legend, the sword had proven no barrier to passion. He was in enough trouble.”
― Anna Campbell, Untouched: A Gothic Romance Where Forbidden Desire Becomes Dangerous Surrender

“I won't write or try to see you. You have twelve months to mourn Josiah and decide what you want. You have your bargain. But never imagine for an instant that this is ended. You and I have unfinished business, Grace."
With focused ruthlessness, he lifted her hand and quickly stripped away the glove. She should protest. This moment would just become a bitter memory to taunt her.
When he bent over her hand, his long hair fell forward to hide his face. He pressed his lips to her bare palm and she couldn't stifle a sigh of pleasure. Impossible not to remember nights when he'd kissed each inch of her. Every cell of her skin remembered his possession. Every cell of her skin longed for him to take her again. But it could never be.
Tears blurred her last image of him as he lifted his head and stepped back with a formal bow. How she loved him. She would never love another.
He turned away and at last strode across to Kermonde. He held himself straight and moved with an unhindered confidence she'd never seen in him before. This was a man ready to embrace his challenges. Embrace and conquer.
Only when Kermonde's carriage left in a clatter of hooves and wild cracks of the whip did she realize he'd taken her glove with him.”
― Anna Campbell, Untouched: A Gothic Romance Where Forbidden Desire Becomes Dangerous Surrender

“Oh, Matthew," she whispered, moved to tears.
"I called it Grace. I hope you don't mind." For the first time, his manner held a hint of shyness, disconcerting in a man who had just made love to her without hesitation or reticence.
Gently, she curled her hand around what was inside the box and lifted it to the light. "It's your rose."
"No, it's your rose."
A heady fragrance filled the air. With one shaking finger, Grace touched a flawless pink petal. The color was unforgettable. It was the most beautiful rose she'd ever seen. Impossible to credit that those unpromising stalks in his courtyard had produced this exquisite bloom.
"It's perfect," she whispered. "It's a miracle."
He was a miracle. How could she not love the man who conjured this beauty with hands and imagination?
The faint smile broadened. Had he worried that she'd reject his gift? Foolish, darling Matthew. The question was whether the rose was a promise of a future or a token of parting.
"I worked on it whenever I could. This last year has been busy."
An understatement, she knew. The Marquess of Sheene had been a ubiquitous presence in London since his release. Everywhere he went, society feted him as a hero. She'd read of the string of honors he'd received, the friendship with the king, the invitations to join scientific boards and societies.
Echoing her gesture, he reached out to touch the petals. The sensitivity of his fingers on the flower reminded her of his hands on her skin.
"I did most of the basic experiments when I was a prisoner, but I couldn't get it right." He glanced up with an expression that combined pride and diffidence in a breathtakingly attractive mixture. "This is the first bud, Grace. It appeared almost a year to the day after I promised to wait. It seemed a sign."
"And you brought it to me," she said softly, staring at the flower. The anniversary of his release didn't occur for two more days. That date was etched on her longing heart.
Then she noticed something else.
"My glove," she said blankly. With unsteady hands, she reached in and withdrew a light green kidskin glove from a recess carved away from the damp. The buttery leather was crushed and worn from incessant handling. "Have you kept it all this time?"
"Of course." He wasn't smiling anymore and his eyes deepened to a rich, rare gold. Beautiful, unwavering, somber.
"You make me want to cry." Her voice emerged so thickly, she didn't sound like herself.
She laid the box on the bench and tightened her grip on the soft leather until her knuckles whitened. What was he trying to tell her? What did the rose mean? The glove?
Had he carried her glove into his new life like a knight wore his lady's favor into battle? The thought sent choking emotion to her throat.”
― Anna Campbell, Untouched: A Gothic Romance Where Forbidden Desire Becomes Dangerous Surrender