Pippa Marbury Quotes

“Upon what grounds do you refuse?"
"Upon the grounds that you owe me."
"Do you plan to run me before a judge and jury?" he asked wryly.
"I don't need to," she retorted, playing her last, most powerful card. "I only have to run you before my brother-in-law."
There was a beat as the words sank in, and his eyes widened, just barely, just enough for her to notice before he closed the distance between them, and said, "A fine idea. Let's tell Bourne everything. You think he would force me to honor our agreement?"
She refused to be cowed. "No. I think he would murder you for agreeing to it in the first place. Even more so when he discovers that it was negotiated by a lady of the evening."
Emotion flared in his serious grey gaze, irritation and... admiration? Whatever it was, it was gone almost instantly, extinguished like a lantern in one of his strange, dark passageways. "Well played, Lady Philippa." The words were soft as they slid over her skin.
"I rather thought so." Where had her voice gone?”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“It's so beautiful and red."
Pippa nodded. "That's the chromium."
"The what?"
"Chromium. It is an additive in the crystal that turns it red. If it were anything else added... it wouldn't be a ruby. It would be a sapphire." Olivia blinked, and Pippa continued, "It's a common misconception that all sapphires are blue, but that's not the case. They can be any color... green or yellow or pink, even. It depends on the additive. But they're all called sapphires. It's only if they're red that they're called something else. Rubies. Because of the chromium.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“I don't understand," Olivia said. "How did Penny sewing and unsewing make for the Trojan War?"
"Penelope was Odysseus's wife," Philippa explained. "He left her, and she sat at her loom, sewing all day, and unraveling all her work at night. For years."
"Why on earth would someone do that?" Olivia wrinkled her nose, selecting a sweet from a nearby tray. "Years? Really?"
"She was waiting for him to come home," Penelope said, meeting Michael's gaze. There was something meaningful there, and he thought she might be speaking of more than the Greek myth. Did she wait for him at night? She'd told him not to touch her... she'd pushed him away... but tonight, if he went to her, would she accept him? Would she follow the path of her namesake?
"I hope you have more exciting things to do when you are waiting for Michael to come home, Penny," Olivia teased.
Penelope smiled, but there was something in her gaze that he did not like, something akin to sadness. He blamed himself for it. Before him, she was happier. Before him, she smiled and laughed and played games with her sisters without reminder of her unfortunate fate.
He stood to meet her as she approached the settee. "I would never leave my Penelope for years." He said, "I would be too afraid that someone would snatch her away." His mother-in-law sighed audibly from across the room as his new sisters laughed. He lifted one of Penelope's hands in his and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. "Penelope and Odysseus were never my favored mythic couple, anyway. I was always more partial to Persephone and Hades."
Penelope smiled at him, and the room was suddenly much much warmer. "You think they were a happier couple?" she asked, wry.
He met her little smile, enjoying himself as he lowered his voice. "I think six months of feast is better than twenty years of famine." She blushed, and he resisted the urge to kiss her there, in the drawing room, hang propriety and ladies' delicate sensibilities.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“She extended her hand. "I'm afraid you have the better of me, sir. I've not made the pleasure of your acquaintance."
He gave her proffered hand a long look before meeting her gaze once more, as though giving her the chance to change her mind. "I am Temple."
The Duke of Lamont.
The murderer.
She stepped back, her hand falling involuntarily at the thought before she could stop it. "Oh."
His lips twisted in a wry smile. "Now you're wishing you hadn't come here after all."
Her mind raced. He wouldn't hurt her. He was Bourne's partner. He was Mr. Cross's partner. It was the middle of the day. People were not killed in Mayfair in the middle of the day.
And for all she'd heard about this dark, dangerous man, there wasn't a single stitch of proof that he'd done that which he was purported to have done.
She extended her hand once more. "I am Philippa Marbury."
One black brow arched, but he took her hand firmly. "Brave girl."
"There's no proof that you're what they say."
"Gossip is damning enough."
She shook her head. "I am a scientist. Hypotheses are useless without evidence."
One side of his mouth twitched. "Would that the rest of England were as thorough.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“I am concerned that the ladies are ill-treated."
"The ladies who frequent the Fallen Angel are not ill-treated."
Her brows knit together. "How do you know?"
"Because they are under my protection."
She froze. "They are?"
He was suddenly warm. "They are. We do all we can to ensure that they are well treated and well paid while under our roof. If they are manhandled, they call for one of the security detail. They file a complaint with me. And if I discover a member is mistreating ladies beneath this roof, his membership is revoked."
She paused for a long moment, considering the words, and finally said, "I have a passion for horticulture."
He wasn't certain how plants had anything to do with prostitutes, but he knew better than to interrupt.
She continued, the words quick and forthright, as though they entirely made sense. "I've made a rather remarkable discovery recently," she said, and his attention lingered on the breathlessness of the words. On the way her mouth curved in a small, private smile. She was proud of herself, and he found- even before she admitted her finding- that he was proud of her. Odd, that. "It is possible to take a piece of one rosebush and affix it to another. And when the process is completed properly... say, a white piece on a red bush... an entirely new rose grows..." She paused, and the rest of the words rushed out, as though she were almost afraid of them. "A pink one."
Cross did not know much about horticulture, but he knew enough about scientific study to know that the finding would be groundbreaking. "How did you-"
She raised a hand to stop the question. "I'll happily show you. It's very exciting. But that's not the point."
He waited for her to arrive at the point in question.
She did. "The career... it is not their choice. They're not red or white anymore. They're pink. And you're why."
Somehow, it made sense that she compared the ladies of the Angel to this experiment in roses. Somehow, this woman's strange, wonderful brain worked in a way that he completely understood.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“It's just that... since we met, I have been rather... well, fascinated by..."
You.
Say it, he willed, not entirely certain what he would do if she did, but willing to put himself to the test.
She took another breath. "By your bones."
Would she ever say anything expected? "My bones?"
She nodded. "Yes. Well, the muscles and tendons, too. Your forearms. Your thighs. And earlier- while I watched you drink whiskey- by your hands."
Cross had been propositioned many times in his life. He'd made a career of refusing women's requests. But he had never been complimented on his bones.
It was the strangest, sexiest confession he'd ever heard.
And he had no idea how to respond.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“The human heart weights (on average) eleven ounces and beats (approximately) one hundred thousand times per day.
In Ancient Greece, the theory was widely held that, as the most powerful and vital part of the body, the heart acted as a brain of sorts- collecting information from all other organs through the circulatory system. Aristotle included thoughts and emotions in his hypotheses relating to the aforementioned information- a fact that modern scientists find quaint in its lack of basic anatomical understanding.
There are reports that long after a person is pronounced dead and a mind and soul gone from its casing, under certain conditions, the heart might continue beating for hours. I find myself wondering if in those instances the organ might continue to feel as well. And, if it does, whether it feels more or less pain than mine at present time.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“She watched him carefully, riveted to his story, and for one, fleeting moment, he allowed himself to look at her, taking in her unbound hair and her blue eyes- full of knowledge and more understanding than he deserved.
He couldn't imagine how he'd ever imagined her ordinary or plain. She was stunning. And if her beauty weren't enough, there was her mind. She was brilliant and quick-witted, and so perfectly different than anyone he'd ever known. Two and two made him. On anyone else's lips it would have been gibberish, but on Pippa's it was the most seductive concept he'd ever considered.
She was everything he'd never known he wanted.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“Most people think you're odd."
She smiled. "On that, most people are right."
"You know, I used to think they were. You're brilliant and have a passion for animals and strange flowers, and you were always more interested in the crops that rotated on my estate than in the trappings of my town house. I'd never met a woman like you. But, even as I knew you were smarter than I, even as I knew that you knew that you were smarter than I... you never showed it. You've never given me any reason to believe you thought me simple. You always went out of your way to remind me of the things we had in common. We both prefer the country. We both enjoy animals." He shrugged one shoulder. "I was happy to think that you would one day be my wife."
"I don't think you simple," she said, wanting him to know that. Wanting him to understand that this mess she was making had nothing to do with him. He was not lacking. "I think you will make someone a very happy match.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“She looked to Pippa. "Have I made it difficult for you?"
Pippa hedged. "Not at all. Castleton sent news to Father just last week that he was planning to court me in earnest, and it's not as though I'm the most ordinary of debutantes."
It was an understatement. Pippa was something of a bluestocking, very focused on the sciences and fascinated by the insides of living things, from plants to people. She'd once stolen a goose from the kitchens and dissected it in her bedchamber.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“It ain't my problem if the ladies are drawn to me," Digger said. "A gentleman doesn't turn 'em away if they're askin' for a minute or two." His eyes slid to Pippa once more. "Ain't that right, Lady Soon-to-be-a-countess?"
"I find it difficult to believe either that ladies are drawn to you or that, in such a case, you would act the part of a gentleman," Pippa retorted.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“And Tottenham shan't be able to to resist me in this dress. No man could."
"Olivia!" the marchioness said from her place. "That is entirely unladylike."
"Why? That is the goal, is it not? To tempt one's husband?"
"One does not tempt one's husband!" the marchioness insisted.
Olivia's smile turned mischievous. "You must have tempted yours once or twice, Mother."
"Oh!" Lady Needham collapsed back against the settee.
Madame Hebert turned away from the conversation, waving two girls over to work on Pippa's hem.
Olivia winked at Pippa. "Five times, at least."
Pippa could not resist. "Four. Victoria and Valerie are twins."
"Enough! I can't abide it!" The marchioness was up and through the curtains to the front of the shop, leaving her daughters to their laughter.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Cross, but in this conversation, you are superfluous."
He gave her his most frightening stare. "I assure you, I am anything but that."
"Am I right in understanding that you have neither the time nor the inclination to speak to me at this particular moment?"
She had backed him into a corner. "Yes."
She smiled. "There it is, then. As I find myself with both, I believe I shall begin my research now. Without you." She turned her back on him.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“You fixed the tables?"
"Nonsense." Pippa grinned. "With what I know of Digger Knight, I would wager everything you have that these tables were already fixed. I unfixed them."
She was mad. And he loved it. His brows rose. "Everything I have?"
She shrugged. "I haven't very much, myself."
She was wrong, of course. She had more than she knew. More than he'd dreamed.
And if she asked, he'd let her wager with everything he owned.
God, he wanted her.
He looked around them, registering the flushed, excited faces of the gamers nearby, not one of them interested in the trio standing to the side. No one who was not playing was worth the attention. Not when so many were winning so much.
She was running the tables at one of the most successful casinos in London. He turned back to her. "How did you..."
She smiled. "You taught me about weighted dice, Jasper."
He warmed at the name. "I didn't teach you about stacked decks."
She feigned insult. "My lord, your lack of confidence in my intelligence wounds me. You think I could not work out the workings of deck stacking myself?"
He ignored the jest. Knight would kill them when he discovered this. "And roulette?"
She smiled. "Magnets have remarkable uses."
She was too smart for her own good. He turned to Temple. "You allowed this?"
Temple shrugged one shoulder. "The lady can be very... determined."
Lord knew that was true.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“If my work has taught me anything, it is this: While a great many curiosities can be explained using thorough scientific research and sound logic, there are a handful of them that resist such easy hypothesis. These mysteries tend to be the most human. The most important.
Chief among them is love.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover

“I must have an excellent connection at a nearby hothouse."
"You do. My younger sister- Philippa- grows the loveliest flowers, year-round, at Needham Manor."
He leaned forward, mocking in his whisper. "The first rule of falsehoods is that we only tell them about ourselves, darling."
She watched the spindly birch trees at the road's edge fading into the white snow beyond. "It's not a falsehood. Pippa is a horticulturist.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“Pippa is virtually engaged to Lord Castleton; we expect he'll propose within a matter of days of her return to London."
His hand stilled for a moment before continuing its long, slow slide. "How did she and Castleton come to know each other?"
She thought of the plain, uninspiring earl. "The same way it happens with anyone, really. Balls, dinners, dancing. He seems nice enough, but... I do not care for the idea of him with Pippa."
"Why not?"
"Some would say she's peculiar, but she's not. She's simply bookish, loves the sciences. She is fascinated by how things work. He doesn't seem to be able to keep up with her. But, honestly? I don't think she gives a fig one way or another about whether or whom she marries. As long as he has a library and a few dogs, she'll make a happiness of sorts for herself. I only wish she could find someone more... well, I hate to sound cruel, but... intelligent.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“Not that we expect anything less of Lord Bourne- husband or not, he remains a rogue! And that which we call a rogue, by any other name would scandalize as sweet!"
"Oh, for heaven's sake." Penelope did roll her eyes at that, looking to Michael, who looked... pleased. "You're complimented?"
He turned innocent eyes on her. "Should I not be?"
"Well," Philippa added thoughtfully, "anything Shakespearean must be at least a vague compliment."
"Precisely," Michael said, gifting Pippa with a smile that made Penelope more than a little envious of her younger sister.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“I might as well marry Castleton," Pippa said. "It will make Father happy. And I shall never have to see the inside of a season again. Think of all the visits to the dressmaker I can forgo."
Penelope smiled at the jest, even as she wanted to open her mouth and scream at the unfairness of it all. Pippa did not deserve a loveless marriage any more than the other Marbury girls did.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“May I help you?"
She did not look up. "You've miscalculated column F."
What in hell?
"I have not."
She pushed her glasses up her nose and tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear, entirely focused on the ledger. "You have. The proper calculation should be one hundred and twelve thousand, three hundred forty-six and seventeen pence."
Impossible.
He stood, moving to look over her shoulder. "That's what it says."
She shook her head, placing one long finger on the tabulation line. He noticed the tip of the finger was slightly crooked, leaning a touch to the right. "You've written one hundred twelve thousand, three hundred, forty-five and seventeen pence. You-" She looked up at him, eyes owl-like behind her spectacles as she took in his height and his bare chest. "You- you've lost a quid."
He bent over her, deliberately crowding her and enjoying the way her breath caught at his nearness. "That is a six."
She cleared her throat and looked again. "Oh." She leaned in and checked the number again. "I suppose you've lost your handwriting skills, instead," she said dryly, and he chuckled as she reached for a pencil and repaired the number.
He watched, riveted to the callus at the tip of her second finger, before he whispered low in her ear, "Are you an accounting fairy sent in the dead of night to check my figures?"
She leaned away from the whisper and and turned to look at him. "It's one o'clock in the afternoon," she said, matter-of-factly, and he had an intense desire to take her spectacles from her face and kiss her senseless, just to see what this odd young woman would say.”
― Sarah MacLean, A Rogue by Any Other Name

“He showed her things she'd never known about things she'd always thought she understood. And she adored it... even as it terrified her.
Even as it made her question everything she thought true.
She resisted the thought, her gaze rising to one large wall of the club, where the Angel's namesake fell in beautiful glass panels from Heaven to Hell, from good to evil, from sainthood to sin. It was the most beautiful window Pippa had ever seen, the work of true artisans, all reds and golds and violets, at once hideous and holy.
It was the angel himself who fascinated her, the enormous, beautiful man crashing to Earth, without the gifts he'd had for so long. In the hands of a poorer artist, the detail of him would have been less intricate, the hands and feet and face would have been shaped with glass of a single color, but this artist had cared deeply for his subject, and the swirls of darks and lights in the panels were finely crafted to depict movement, shape, and even emotion.
She could not help but stare at the face of the fall- inverted as he fell to the floor of the hell- the arch of his brow, the complex shade of his jaw, the curve of his lip. She paused there, thinking on another pair of lips, another fall. Another angel.
Cross.
Emotion flared, one she did not immediately recognize.
She let out a long breath.
She wanted him- in a way she knew she should not. In a way she knew she should want another. A man destined to be her husband. To be the father of her children.
And yet, she wanted Cross.
This angel.”
― Sarah MacLean, One Good Earl Deserves a Lover