Sara Fielding Quotes

“Suddenly she was distracted by the feel of a strange object underneath her palm, pressed flat against his chest. There was a hard lump in the inside pocket of his coat. She frowned curiously. Before Derek realized what she was doing, she reached inside the garment to investigate.
"No," he said swiftly, his large hand gripping her wrist to stop her.
But it was too late; her fingers had already encountered the object and identified it. With a disbelieving look on her face, Sara pulled out the tiny pair of spectacles she thought she had lost at the club. "Why?" she whispered, amazed that he was carrying them in his breast pocket.
He met her gaze defiantly, his jaw set. A small muscle twitched his cheek.
Then she understood. "Are you having problems with your sight, Mr. Craven?" she asked softly. "Or is it your heart?”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“The trouble began right after Perry proposed. Although we were happy at first, it didn't take long before we discovered that we didn't suit. Perry said I wasn't the same woman he'd known all his life. He said I had changed- and he was right. We'd never argued before, but suddenly it seemed we couldn't agree on anything. I made him very unhappy, I'm afraid."
"So you gave him plenty of lip," Derek commented, looking pleased. His good humor restored, he reached over to pat her familiarly on the thigh. "That's fine. I like my women saucy.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“Is it always this awkward?" Sara asked. Her voice was hushed.
Derek turned to look at her, his gaze falling to the white rose in her hands. She had taken it from the arrangement of hothouse flowers. Nervously her fingers ruffled the fragile petals.
Self-consciously Sara sniffed the pale blossom and began to insert it back into the huge vase. "It's nice to have roses in January," she murmured. "Nothing in the world has such a lovely scent."
She was so innocently beautiful, with the disordered waves of her hair falling around her face. His muscles tightened in response. He would like to have her painted this way, standing by the table with her head turned toward him, the white flower caught in her fingers. "Bring it here," he said.
She obeyed, coming to him and handing him the rose. He closed his fingers around the plump head of the flower and pulled gently, freeing the petals from their tenuous moorings. Tossing aside the desecrated stem, he opened his hand over the bed. The petals scattered in a fragrant shower. Sara drew in a quick breath, staring at him as if mesmerized.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“Sara noticed that his white teeth were slightly snaggled, giving his smile the appearance of a friendly snarl. It was then that she understood why so many women had been seduced by him. His grin held a wickedly irresistible appeal. She stared at his chest as he untied the laces and positioned her cap correctly.
"Thank you," she murmured, and tried to take the strings of the cap from his fingers.
But he didn't let go. He held the laces at her chin, his fingers tightening. Glancing up at him in confusion, Sara saw that his smile had vanished. In a decisive motion he pulled the concealing lace from her hair and let it fall. The cap fluttered to a patch of mud and rested there limply.
Sara lifted her hand to the loose braided coil of her hair, which threatened to tumble from its pins. The chestnut locks gleamed with fiery highlights, escaping in delicate wisps around her face and throat. "Mr. Craven," she scolded breathlessly. "I find your behavior untoward and a-and offensive, not to mention-oh!" She stammered in astonishment as he reached for her spectacles and plucked them from her face. "Mr. Craven, h-how dare you..." She fumbled to retrieve them. "I... I need those..."
Derek held them out of reach as he stared at her uncovered face. This was what she had kept hidden beneath the old-maid disguise... pale, luminous skin, a mouth shaped with surprising lushness, a pert little nose, marked at the delicate bridge where the edge of her spectacles had pressed. Angel-blue eyes, pure and beguiling, surmounted by dark winged brows. She was beautiful. He could have devoured her in a few bites, like a fragrant red apple. He wanted to touch her, take her somewhere and pull her beneath him, as if he could somehow erase a lifetime of sin and shame within the sweetness of her body.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“Sara and I are both leaving within the hour. In my carriage."
"Together?" Lily looked startled, and then shook her head. "You can't. Don't you realize what people would say when they discovered that both of you were gone?"
"Nothing they haven't said already." He slid a proprietary arm around Sara's shoulders.
Lily drew her slight frame up as tall as possible, adopting the brisk tone of a chaperone defending her charge. "Where are you planning to go?"
Derek smiled slowly. "None of your damn business, gypsy." Ignoring Lily's sputtering protests, he stared down at his fiancée and raised his brows mockingly.
As she met his glinting green eyes, Sara realized he intended to take her to London and keep her with him for the night. Her nerves jangled with alarm. "I'm not certain it's advisable-" she began diplomatically, but he cut her off.
"Go pack your things."
Oh, the arrogance. But it was part of why she loved him, his single-minded determination to get what he wanted. Only blind, bullying stubbornness had enabled him to climb from the gutter. Now that the prospect of marrying her was within his reach, he planned to ensure it by well and truly compromising her. After tonight there would be no turning back. Sara stared at the broad expanse of his chest, conscious of the weight of his arm across her shoulders, the gentle stroke of his thumb and forefinger against her neck. Well... reprehensible as it was, she wanted the same thing.
"Derek," Lily said in a steely voice, "I won't allow you to force this poor child into something she's not prepared for-"
"She's not a child." His fingers tightened on the back of Sara's neck. "Tell her what you want, Sara."
Helplessly Sara raised her head and looked at Lily, her face turning a deep shade of crimson. "I... I'm leaving with Mr. Craven." She didn't have to look at Derek to know that he was smiling in satisfaction.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“Her endless complaining was finally too much for Sara to take. "Oh, good Lord, that's enough," she exclaimed impatiently.
"I'm going to die," Joyce moaned.
"Unfortunately that's not the case. The bullet passed cleanly through your shoulder, the bleeding's stopped, and whatever discomfort you feel isn't nearly enough to make up for all you've done," Sara continued with growing exasperation. "The first time I met Derek was on the night you had his face slashed, and ever since then you've harassed and tormented us both. You brought this on yourself!"
"You're enjoying my suffering," Joyce whined.
"Somehow I can't dredge up much sympathy for a woman who's just tried to kill me! And when I think of the cruel, callous way you destroyed Derek's club..."
"He'll always hate me for that," Joyce whispered in satisfaction. "I'll always have that part of him, at least."
"No," Sara said firmly. "I'm going to fill his life with such happiness that he'll have no room to hate anyone. He won't spare you a thought. You'll be nothing to him.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“The pink?" she suggested, holding the shimmering rose-colored satin in front of Sara's half-clad figure. Sara held her breath in awe. She had never worn such a sumptuous creation. Silk roses adorned the sleeves and hem of the gown. The short-waisted bodice was finished with a stomacher of silver filigree and a row of satin bows.
Lily shook her head thoughtfully. "Charming, but too innocent."
Sara suppressed a disappointed sigh. She couldn't imagine anything more beautiful than the pink satin. Busily Monique discarded the gown and sorted through the others. "The peach. No man will be able to keep his eyes from her in that. Here, let us try it, chérie."
Raising her arms, Sara let the dressmaker and her assistant Cora pull the gauzy peach-hued gown over her head. "I think it will have to be altered a great deal," Sara commented, her voice muffled beneath the delicate layers of fabric. The gowns had been fitted for Lily's lithe, compact lines. Sara was more amply endowed, with a generous bosom and curving hips, and a tiny, scoped-in waist... a figure style that had been fashionable thirty years ago. The current high-waisted Grecian mode was not particularly flattering to her.
Monique settled the gown around Sara's feet and then began to yank the back of it together. "Oui, Lady Raiford has the form that fashion loves." Energetically, she hooked the tight bodice together. "But you, chérie, have the kind that men love. Draw in your breath, s'il vous plaît."
Sara winced as her breasts were pushed upward until they nearly overflowed from the low-cut bodice. The hem of the unusually full skirt was bordered with three rows of graduated tulip-leaves. Sara could hardly believe the woman in the mirror was herself. The peach gown, with its transparent layers of silk and shockingly low neckline, had been designed to attract a man's attention. It was too loose at the waist, but her breasts rose from the shallow bodice in creamy splendor pushed together to form an enticing cleavage.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“It's a lovely mask," Sara said, toying with the narrow black silk ribbons before tying it in place. Monique had artfully fashioned it out of black silk and lace, and glinting blue sapphires that matched her gown. "I'm not nervous at all." It was true. She felt as if some reckless stranger had replaced her usual cautious self. The midnight-blue gown molded to her figure, cut so low that her breasts seemed ready to spill from the meager bodice. A broad satin sash fastened with a gold buckle emphasized her small waist. The mask covered the upper half of her face but revealed her lips, which Monique and Lily had insisted on darkening with the faintest hint of rouge. Laboriously they had arranged her hair in a cluster of curls on top of her head, allowing a few ringlets to dangle teasingly against her cheeks and neck. A perfume that reminded Sara of roses blended with some deeper foresty scent had been applied sparingly to her bosom and throat.
"A triumph," Monique had declared, gloating over the transformation. "Beautiful, worldly, but still fresh and young... ah, chérie, you will make many conquests tonight!"
"Stunning," Lily had said, beaming with delight. "What a stir she'll cause.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“It had been years since he'd seen a woman handle a crowd of admirers so deftly- not since Lily in her gambling days. Fascinated, he wondered where the hell she had come from. He knew about all the new arrivals in London, and he'd never seen her before. She must be some diplomat's wife, or some exclusive courtesan. Her lips were red and pouting, her pale white shoulders enticingly bare above the blue velvet of her gown. She laughed frequently, tossing her head back in a way that caused her chestnut curls to dance. Like the other men present, Derek was captivated by her figure, the luscious round breasts, the tiny waist, all revealed by a well-fitted gown that was unlike the shapeless Grecian styles of the other women.
"A toast to the loveliest bosom in London!" Lord Bromley, a rakish ne'er-do-well, exclaimed. Titillated and excited, the crowd raised their glasses with a cheer. Waiters rushed to bring more liquor.
"Miss," one of them begged, "I entreat you to cast my dice for me."
"Whatever good luck I have is yours," she assured him, and shook the dice in the box so vigorously that her breasts quivered beneath their shallow covering. The temperature in the room escalated rapidly as a host of admiring sighs greeted the display. Derek decided to intervene before the crowd's mood became too highly charged. Either the vixen didn't realize the lust she was inciting, or she was doing it deliberately. Either way, he wanted to meet her.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“Agitatedly she touched the heavy necklace at her throat, worrying the smooth emeralds between her fingers.
"Give that to me," Joyce said sharply, watching her.
"The necklace?"
"Yes, take it off." Joyce watched as Sara unhooked the glittering treasure from her neck. "A peasant woman with a necklace fit for a queen," she sneered. "You don't have the grace or bearing to wear it properly. Give it to me." Her eager fingers wrapped around the necklace, and she snatched it away. Setting it on the seat beside her, she toyed lovingly with the web of emeralds and diamonds. "He gave me presents... a bracelet, a necklace, jeweled combs for my hair... but nothing as fine as this." She smiled at Sara tauntingly. "The day he gave me the combs, he said that he'd imagined making love to me wearing jewels in my golden hair and nothing else. He much prefers blond hair to dark, did you know that?”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“After picking up the lamp, she went to Joyce, who was clutching her injured shoulder. I should leave you here, she thought. She was unaware she had said the words aloud until Joyce replied.
"You can't let me die!"
"You're not going to die." Disgusted, terrified, Sara removed her own petticoat, wadded it up, and pressed it firmly against the wound to staunch the blood. Joyce screamed like an enraged cat, her eyes slitted and demonic. Sara's ears rang from the piercing cry.
"Be quiet, you bitch!" Sara snapped. "Not another sound!" Suddenly her entire body was filled with furious energy. She felt strong enough to push down a stone wall with her bare hands. She went to the crumbling entrance of the castle and saw that the hack driver was still waiting, craning his neck curiously. "You!" she shouted. "Come here right away, or you won't get a bloody shilling of what she promised!" She turned back to Joyce, her blue eyes blazing. "And you... give me back my necklace.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“Sara noticed that his white teeth were slightly snaggled, giving his smile the appearance of a friendly snarl. It was then that she understood why so many women had been seduced by him. His grin held a wickedly irresistible appeal. She stared at his chest as he untied the laces and positioned her cap correctly.
"Thank you," she murmured, and tried to take the strings of the cap from his fingers.
But he didn't let go. He held the laces at her chin, his fingers tightening. Glancing up at him in confusion, Sara saw that his smile had vanished. In a decisive motion he pulled the concealing lace from her hair and let it fall. The cap fluttered to a patch of mud and rested there limply.
Sara lifted her hand to the loose braided coil of her hair, which threatened to tumble from its pins. The chestnut locks gleamed with fiery highlights, escaping in delicate wisps around her face and throat. "Mr. Craven," she scolded breathlessly. "I find your behavior untoward a-and offensive, not to mention-oh!" She stammered in astonishment as he reached for her spectacles and plucked them from her face. "Mr. Craven, h-how dare you..." She fumbled to retrieve them. "I... I need those..."
Derek held them out of reach as he stared at her uncovered face. This was what she had kept hidden beneath the old-maid disguise... pale, luminous skin, a mouth shaped with surprising lushness, a pert little nose, marked at the delicate bridge where the edge of her spectacles had pressed. Angel-blue eyes, pure and beguiling, surmounted by dark winged brows. She was beautiful. He could have devoured her in a few bites, like a fragrant red apple. He wanted to touch her, take her somewhere and pull her beneath him, as if he could somehow erase a lifetime of sin and shame within the sweetness of her body.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“She'd never seen a place so decorated so extravagantly. It was like a glittering underwater kingdom, reminding her of the tales of Atlantis that had enchanted her as a child. The walls were hung with gauzy blue and green silk draperies. A painted canvas studded with seashells gave the impression of a castle beneath the sea. Slowly she wandered around the room, inspecting the plaster sculptures of fish, scallop shells, and bare-breasted mermaids. A gaudy treasure chest filled with paste jewels was wedged beneath the central hazard table. The doorway to the next room had been converted into the hull of a sunken ship. Lengths of blue gauze and silver netting were hung overhead, making it seem as if they were under water.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“Sara was silent, all of her exuberance at being with Perry fading. She had come here to be with him, not to receive a lecture from his mother, no matter how well-intentioned. Why was Perry allowing it without a word? He was being complacent while his mother dominated their time together. Ignoring a twinge of resentment, Sara tried to steer the conversation in a new direction. "Tell me what happened in Greenwood Corners while I was away. How is old Mr. Dawson's gout?"
"Much better," Martha replied. "He actually put his shoes on the other day and went for a stroll."
"His niece Rachel became engaged to Johnny Chesterson the day before last," Perry added.
"Oh, that's wonderful," Sara exclaimed. "The Chestersons are lucky to have such a nice girl in their family."
Martha nodded primly. "Rachel is the kind of spiritual, self-effacing girl that Mr. Kingswood always hoped his son would marry. She would never dream of drawing attention to herself... as some young women do."
"Are you referring to me?" Sara asked quietly.
"I am making a point about Rachel."
Slowly Sara set her cup and saucer on the table and looked at Perry, who had colored at his mother's rudeness. "It's a wonder you never courted such a paragon," Sara told him, smiling although her chest was tightening with anger.
Martha answered for her son. "Perry was never free to court her or any other girls in the village. Someone else was always taking up his time with her demanding possessiveness."
Sara felt her face turn red. "Was that you or me, I wonder?”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“Gentlemen," Lily informed the room at large, "I came to tell you I must abandon the game to show my new guest 'round the house. Lansdale, perhaps you would take my place at the table?"
"He will, but not half so attractively," someone remarked. There were assorted chuckles around the room.
Lansdale, a middle-aged man of unusually short stature but possessing a handsome aquiline face, regarded Sara with bold interest. "Perhaps, Lady Raiford, you would keep to the billiards game and allow me to show your guest around."
Sara blushed at the suggestion, while several of the men laughed.
Rolling her eyes, Lily addressed a remark to Sara. "Watch out for that one, my lamb. In fact, don't trust a single of these men. I know them all, and I can vouch for the fact that underneath those attractive exteriors is a pack of wolves."
Sara could see how Lily's remark pleased the men, who clearly liked to think of themselves as predators, paunches and receding hairlines notwithstanding.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“Suddenly she was aware of an icy tingling on her neck, and every hair on her body stood erect. She turned around slowly.
Derek was standing behind her, looking far from deserving of anyone's sympathy. He stared at her like a jaded sultan surveying his latest female acquisition. His dark handsomeness was matched only by his extraordinary self-possession. "Where is your fiancé?" he asked in a distinctly unfriendly tone.
Sara was unnerved by his threatening stillness. "I don't have a... That is, h-he... We're not going to marry."
"He didn't propose?"
"No... well, yes, but..." Sara stepped back instinctively. Derek moved to close the distance between them. As they talked, she continued to edge away, and he followed like a stalking cat. "Mr. Kingswood proposed a few nights after my return," Sara said breathlessly. "I accepted. I was very happy at first... well, not precisely happy, but-"
"What happened?"
"There were problems. He said I had changed. I suppose he was right, although-"
"He broke the engagement?"
"I... I think a case could be made that we broke it together..." As he advanced on her, she found herself backing into a nearby room, almost stumbling over a delicate gilded chair. "Mr. Craven, I wish you would stop prowling after me this way!”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“I had every right to accept Lady Raiford's invitation," she said stubbornly. "A-and I won't leave, no matter what you say to me!"
"Then I will."
"All right!" To her amazement, an urge to taunt him overcame her, and she added, "If you have so little control over yourself that you find it necessary to run away from me."
His face was wiped clean of all expression, but she could sense the fury that blazed within him. "They say God protects fools and children- for your sake I hope it's true.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You

“What do you want?"
"I want to have a look at the woman he's taken as his wife." Joyce smiled contemptuously. "Covered in velvet and jewels... as if that might fool others into thinking you're a lady of consequence."
"A lady such as yourself?”
― Lisa Kleypas, Dreaming of You