Grace Paget Quotes

“Furious grief for her sorrow gripped him in claws of steel. She was young, close to his age, yet she'd seen so much unhappiness. He'd give his soul to ease her pain. But his soul, he knew to his regret, held no value for her.
He clenched his fists at his side as he watched her raise her hands to her face. He didn't need to be close to her to know the tears that had threatened during her tale finally overflowed.
Jesus, he hated it when she cried. Every tear ripped at his heart like a blunt butcher's knife.”
― Anna Campbell, Untouched: A Gothic Romance Where Forbidden Desire Becomes Dangerous Surrender

“He angled himself so he could see the round smoothness of her forehead and the straight, oddly aristocratic nose. She was beautiful. He'd recognized that immediately.
Recognized and railed against it.
The oval face with its exotically slanted cheekbones reminded him of etchings he'd seen of Italian Madonnas. His uncle had been generous in giving him books to make up for the Grand Tour he'd never undertake.
His gaze fastened on where delicate color returned from her lush mouth. Its fullness belied the impression of purity. That mouth made even such a sorry excuse for a man as Matthew dream of sin.”
― Anna Campbell, Untouched: A Gothic Romance Where Forbidden Desire Becomes Dangerous Surrender

“She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as if the air itself offered sustenance. The rise and fall of her chest only made him more aware of the beautiful shape of her breasts. They weren't large but on a woman of her extreme slenderness, they seemed miraculously voluptuous. His fingers curled at his sides as if he already tested the weight and shape of her.”
― 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

“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