Val Napier Quotes

“Séraphine."
The whisper in her dreams and Bridget whimpered and tried to bat it away. She needn't wake yet. It wasn't time to rise. She had hours still.
A soft chuckle and the brush of something soft on her cheek. "I would never have guessed you were such a deep sleeper, my practical housekeeper."
She had a terrible foreboding, an awful suspicion, even in her dreams, and she fought valiantly through the sluggish waves.
Bridget opened her eyes, blinking, in the candlelight, to find azure eyes only inches from her own.
They crinkled at the corners. "There you are.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Val turned, still naked, still impossibly beautiful. Only the gore spattered on his belly, chest, and arm, marred his perfection.
He walked toward her and she couldn't help it. She backed away from him.
He smiled.
Sweetly. Like a boy. The dagger still in his left hand. And caught her arm with his right hand.
"This is who I am, Séraphine. Naked, with blade and blood. I am vengeance. I am hate. I am sin personified. Never mistake me for the hero of this tale, for I am not and shall never be. I am the villain."
And he laid his lips over hers and pushed his hot tongue into her mouth and kissed her until she couldn't breathe and it was only later that she found the bloodstains on her dress.

Her lips had been sweet, like ripe figs, her mouth a cavern of delight. But her eyes- those dark inquisitor's eyes- had held only horror and disgust.
Val sipped his China tea the next morning and gazed out the window. The sun shone on his garden, giving the illusion of warmth, though his empty chest was ice-cold.
He could have explained to her that a razor-sharp blade was kinder than a hangman's noose. That death delivered in seconds with a few thrusts was preferable to a laughing, jabbering mob, gleeful at the jerking, agonizing execution.
But those saint's eyes would've seen the hypocrisy.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Oh," said her husband, sounding deeply pleased at something he'd read in his letter.
"What?" Bridget sat up, inadvertently spilling several drops of honey on her breast.
Sadly, she succumbed to her husband's fondness for nudity soon after their marriage.
Valentine glanced up, but his gaze was immediately drawn to the honey slowly dripping down her breast.
"Val..." Bridget moved to scoop the honey up with her finger.
His hand darted out, catching hers.
"Oh, don't," he breathed, leaning over her, forcing her flat on her back.
He bent, closing his azure eyes, and licked her breast almost reverently.
She shuddered.
"It's the middle of the day," she whispered.
His eyes opened, wicked and amused. "I know. Your favorite."
She smiled up at him, threading her fingers through his golden hair. "I love you."
"And I love you," he murmured against her lips, before taking her mouth hard and possessively.
Their letters fell to the floor, abandoned, but Bridget didn't care at all.
She was with her true love and the world outside could wait.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He immediately turned to her as the carriage rocked into motion, wrapping her in his cloak and examined her. She had bruises on her shoulders and on her arms. Her wrists were bloodied- he growled under his breath as he examined them, picking away the remains of the ropes. Her plump little toes were muddied and cut and cold. He warmed them with his hands, crooning to them. She had quite a nasty bruise on her left side and he tenderly pressed his fingers around that, soft sounds leaving his lips helplessly. Oh, that he had been there when this had been done! He would have put their eyes out. He would have cut off their noses and made them eat them. He would have-
"Valentine."
He blinked and realized that she had the palms of her hands on his face and was looking at him. "Valentine. I'm all right."
His eyes narrowed as he looked at her face, for he was no fool. They must've had her for several days to bring her here. "Are you, though?"
She looked at him very firmly. "Yes."
"They didn't rape you?"
"No."
"Or touch you in any way?"
She sighed. "They grabbed me when they took me. They tied me up."
He thought about that. He didn't like it. "Did they make you do anything you didn't want to?"
She hesitated.
He went icy cold. "Tell me."
"They..." She went a deep red and looked away. "They... when I needed to... to urinate they didn't turn away."
"Ah." Well. That settled that.
He wrapped his arms around her. "I am truly sorry you had to endure such horrific events, my Séraphine.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“And then he saw her burning eyes. They gazed at him calmly and he saw in them benediction.
He fell to his knees before her, pressing his face to her purple-velvet-clad-belly. "Séraphine, Séraphine, Séraphine. O most beloved of women, most fiery of saints, never leave me, please. I'll erect columns of white marble to you, build gardens of delight for you, cause ships to sail and warriors to rise for you, if you'll only remain by my side."
She smiled down at him and cupped his cheeks. "Valentine, do you love me?"
Ah, God, it was like a shot to the gut.
He squeezed tight his eyes. To come so close and lose her because of this. "If I were able I would love you as no man has ever loved a woman since the beginning of time."
She knelt then to face him and whispered, "But you are able."
He clutched her. He wouldn't let her go, no, not even when she realized... "Séraphine, my darling, burning one, do you not remember? I told you, so long ago now, that I lacked that part. I cannot-"
"But you can, Valentine." She touched a finger to his cheek and then showed it to him.
He blinked.
Her finger was wet. His eyes were wet.
She smiled at him, his burning Séraphine, and it was as if the night sky were ablaze. "You love me."
"I love you," he said in wonder, and felt his chest fill with warmth. "I love you."
"And I love you," she whispered, her hands cupping his face.
So he kissed her until she was limp and pliable and so very hot against him, and then he purred into her ear, "Does that mean you'll become my duchess, darling Bridget Crumb?"
And when she sighed back, "Oh, yes, Val," he picked her up and carried her off to have his wicked, wicked way with her.
Because he might have a heart now but some things weren't ever going to change.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Had she not nursed him with her own hands? Had she not suckled his tongue so ardently? He'd give her time- a day or so only- and then he would invite her again to wait upon him. He'd slide close behind her, whisper scandalous words into her mobcap-sheltered ear, and remind her of all the things she tried so hard to hide beneath black wool and starched linen. And then... oh, and then, he'd see if his little housekeeper truly burned at her core.
Patience.
He could be patient when the occasion called for it, and this one certainly did.
She'd come back to him, even with his true face revealed.
She only needed time.
So.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“She flew in, all fiery flashing eyes and flushed cheeks, her bosom heaving beneath black wool.
She was magnificent.
"Tell them to let her go!" Séraphine ordered him imperiously. "Tell them to let her go right now."
She stood over him, her lips wet, her body shaking with her rage, and he wanted to take her and roll her beneath him and fuck her into the mattress.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“For a moment she stared at him, panting, breathless and wordless, it seemed, with rage.
He'd had no idea she would respond to his capture of her queen so violently.
It was rather arousing.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Oh, Séraphine," he purred, pushing his nose close to her jaw to inhale her righteous scent. "Who do you suppose sits in Parliament? Who makes the laws, runs the government of this great and lofty nation, hmm?" She hadn't bathed this morning, he could tell, and she smelled of herself: woman, sweat, sex. He licked across her cheek, tasting salt and pure saint, to her mouth. He bit her lips. Once, twice, a third time, wanting, craving.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He smiled and pulled the ugly white fichu from her neck.
She blinked and looked down at the simple, square neckline of her bodice as if she'd never seen it. Perhaps she hadn't. Perhaps she dressed in the dark like a nun. "What are you doing?"
He sighed. "I confess, I find your naïveté perplexing. How have you arrived at the advanced age of six and twenty without having anyone attempt seduction upon yourself? I'm of two minds on the matter: One, utter astonishment at my sex and their deaf disregard for your siren call. Two, glee at the thought that your innocence might signal that you are indeed innocent. Why this should excite me so, I don't know- virginity has never before been a particular whim of mine. I think perhaps it's the setting. Who knows how many virgins were deflowered here by my lusty ancestors? Or," he said as he deftly unpinned and tossed aside her apron, "maybe it's simply you."
"I don't..." Her words trailed off and then, interestingly, she blushed a deep rose. Well. That question settled, then. His little maiden was really a maiden. "What?"
"I think it's you," he confided, pulling the strings tying her hideous mobcap beneath her chin.
She made a wild grab for it, but he was faster, snatching the bloody thing off- finally, and with a great deal of satisfaction. She might've deprived him of a wife that it'd taken him half a year and a rather large sum of money to entangle, but by God, he'd taken off her awful cap.
And underneath...
"Oh, Séraphine," he breathed, enchanted, for her hair was as black as coal, as black as night, as black as his own soul, save for one white streak just over her left eye. But she'd twisted and braided and tortured the strands, binding them tight to her head, and his fingers itched to let them free.
"Don't!" she said, as if she knew what he wanted, her hands flying up to cover her hair.
He batted them aside, laughing, pulling a pin here, a pin there, dropping them carelessly to the carpet as she squealed like a little girl and backed away from him, trying frantically to ward off his fingers.
He might've taken pity on her had he not just spent an hour on a freezing moor, wondering if he was going to find her dead, neck broken, at the bottom of a hill.
Her hair came down all at once, a tumbling mass, tousled and heavy and nearly down to her waist.
"Wonderful," he murmured, taking it in both hands and lifting it.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He met Caire's eyes. "I hope we can finish this soon. I left your sister in my bed."
St. John swore under his breath and stepped between them, facing Val. "Are you insane?"
"Many think so,." Val was watching Caire, his lips twitching.
Caire hadn't moved. Only his eyes, hard and staring and trained upon Val, showed that he'd heard Val's words. Those eyes burned a bit like Séraphine's, Val mused, and he wondered if the other man truly meant to kill him this morning.
Well, he would certainly try.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“I'd take her to the top of the widow's tower at Ainsdale Castle, late at night, and we'd watch the moon rise. The widow's tower was very high but she wasn't afraid. Sometimes I'd steal a pie from the kitchens and we'd picnic up there. I brought up a blanket, too, so she wouldn't have to sit on the bare stone floor."
Mrs. Crumb made an aborted movement, as if she'd meant to turn to face him and then changed her mind.
He let the wineglass dangle by his side. "I told her a rabbit lived on the moon and she believed me. She believed everything I told her then."
"What rabbit?"
"There." He roused himself, straightening.
He drew back, fitting her against his chest and setting his chin on her shoulder. She smelled of tea and housekeeperly things, and she was warm, so warm. He caught up her right hand in his and traced the moon with it. "D'you see? There are the long ears, there the tail, there the forepaws, there the back."
"I see," she whispered.
"I told her the rabbit had lavender fur and ate pink moon clover up there." His mouth twisted, as he remembered. "She'd watch me with big blue eyes, her mouth half-open, a bit of piecrust on her dress. She hung on every word."
He could hear her breath, could feel the tremble of her limbs. Did she fear him?
"D'you believe me?" he asked against her ear, his lips wet with wine. She was a housekeeper and housekeepers didn't matter in the grand schemes of kings and dukes and little girls who wished upon rabbit moons.
But she was silent, damnable housekeeper.
They breathed together for a moment, there in the night air, London twinkling before them, overhung by a pagan moon.
At last she stirred and asked, "What happened to the girl?"
He broke away from her, draining his glass of wine. "She grew up and knew me for a liar.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Why then was he taking her? Was it merely for his own amusement- or was it for some other, more sinister reason?
After all, only two days before she'd seen him kill a footman in cold blood. Of course Cal had tried to kill the duke in a particularly awful and vicious way. But then afterward the duke had kissed her as she'd never been kissed in all her life. His tongue had tasted of wine and sin and she'd wanted to moan and rub herself against him as he'd tilted her back over his arm.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He looked down at her sleeping form. Her hands lay like half-opened flowers on her lap, one cupped within the other. Such sturdy little hands, meant for practical work. Her fingers were rather plump. He smiled at the thought. He held his own hand over hers, comparing. His fingers, long and elegant, dwarfed hers, and yet he found he preferred hers.
He let his hand fall to his lap.
She wore that dreadful mobcap, hiding both her hair and her face from him, and he wanted to pluck it from her head.
But to do so would disturb her sleep.
He cocked his head, considering the conundrum. He found, on the whole, that he didn't wish to disturb his housekeeper's sleep. It felt... nice to have her lying so trustingly against him.
If he listened very intently he could hear her breaths.
After a bit he breathed with her.
In and out.
In... and then out.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“A giant black beast came rushing up to her, the sound of hoofbeats thundering in her ears. She cowered, waiting to be trampled, but instead strong arms reached down and seized her, sweeping her up.
"I have you now, my Séraphine," growled the Duke of Montgomery in her ear. "Did you really think I wouldn't come for you?”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Val set Séraphine before the roaring fire, but kept his hands on her because he'd learned his lesson well... and also because he liked his hands on her.
She glanced at the steaming bath and suppressed another shiver. "I should leave if you're about to take a bath."
"Why?" he asked as he slipped his sadly ruined purple velvet coat from her shoulders. It had cost more than she'd probably make in a lifetime and now stank of bacon and horses, thanks to her. He threw the sodden thing in the corner.
"You'll want your privacy," she replied nonsensically.
He looked into her dark eyes, amused, as he unhooked her chatelaine and laid it on a table. "When have I ever wanted privacy?”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He began on the hidden hooks to her bodice as she stood still, her breasts rising and falling tremblingly beneath his fingers. It was like undressing a wild animal. Or an angel who had consented to stand still for a moment. Any false move on his part might startle her into flight.
He smiled into her eyes, aware that his cock pressed hard and hot against the placket of his breeches. Her hair had smelled of earth and her. He was almost loath to replace her essential scent with perfumes.
But she was freezing. He'd felt it in the ice of her fingers, in the chill of her cheeks. He wanted her warm.
He couldn't let his burning angel's fire go out.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Let me help you rinse your hair."
His voice had deepened and it made a shock go through her, low in her belly. He rose and crossed to where a pitcher stood on the hearth. She didn't turn, but she could hear him moving behind her, and it struck her that she'd seldom been waited upon before in her life- and never by a gentleman.
"Sit a little forward." He was suddenly close. "Close your eyes and tilt your head back."
The water flowed over her scalp, warm and soothing, but her skin was prickled with goose bumps nonetheless.
"Once more, I think," he said, his voice so near, his hands large and sure, and he poured again. "There."
She sat back, wringing the water from her hair with fingers that trembled. She could hear him setting down the pitcher and she wasn't sure what to do. This was so far outside any experience she'd ever before had or imagined...
Bridget cleared her throat, but her voice was husky when she spoke. "Can you hand me a cloth for my hair?"
"Let me." He expertly wrapped a cloth around her head, keeping her clean hair out of the water. "Now you look like an Ottoman sultana." His fingers lingered on the back of her neck, stroking.
She closed her eyes, feeling her nipples throb. Oh, God, he'd barely touched her yet.
She inhaled and tried to smile, but found she was too tense. "Is... is there another cloth with which to dry myself?"
The fingers left as he reseated himself, his cheek propped on his knuckles. "But you haven't washed yourself, sweet Brid-get." He snapped off the t of her name with a click of his tongue. "I'm sure you wouldn't want to miss..." His gaze seemed to penetrate the now-clouded water before rising and meeting her own eyes with a devilish gleam. "Well, everything.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He attacked her throat and she was so startled by the sudden move that she squeaked. He was laving her with his tongue, openmouthed, and she moaned, arching, wondering wildly if this was the same man who wore pink silk coats and black velvet bows. This seemed so base, so animal. Not at all like the effete aristocrat she thought she knew.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“She would've sworn the cat- or kitten, for it sounded quite small- was right in front of her, but there was nothing there.
She straightened and glanced at Val.
His azure eyes were alight with amusement. "Phantom cats and ghostly kittens."
She frowned at him. "I don't believe in ghosts."
"Boring." He kissed her on the nose and, while she was still blinking in surprise, leaned down and did something to the back of the cupboard.
Suddenly one of the boards came away in his hands.
She leaned down again to look.
Staring back at them was a ginger cat, her green eyes wide, and at her teats were a row of wriggling kittens in a rainbow of colors. She was curled in the small space of what was evidently a false back to the cupboard.
"But how did she get in?" Bridget breathed, enchanted. The kittens were at that wee fluffy stage and absolutely adorable.
"Magic," Val said promptly, and then, more prosaically, "or the back of the cupboard's rotted away.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Come," he said gently, for he knew she'd been through travail. "I sought you out amongst your labors to bend my knee and plead that you leave the dust and spiders and mouse droppings to come and lounge awhile and perhaps partake of luncheon."
Interestingly, she blushed. "I can't do that," she hissed under her breath.
"Why not?" he asked, deeply diverted by her reaction.
"The other servants."
He blinked. "I assure you, I do let all my servants partake of luncheon."
"But if I am with you..." Her blush deepened.
He cocked his head, studying her, entirely baffled. "I didn't mean luncheon as a euphemism; however, I'm entirely happy to adjourn to my rooms right at this moment if that is-"
"No," she said with what some might take as unflattering emphasis. She rolled her eyes as if he were the one being difficult, which, to be fair, he often was. "Let's go have luncheon."
He smiled. "Splendid!"
She looked at him a little shyly. Absolutely enchanting. "I'm dusty. I'll go wash first and meet you in the dining room, shall I?"
He bowed with a flourish. "I await your presence."
She looked flustered at that and he was very tempted to perhaps lean her up against one of the tables and-”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He started for the door, thinking of crimson velvet and burning eyes- and a woman's face swam into view.
Ah. A quarry. A victim of his plots and of his villainy.
He diverted his course, intercepting the woman. She was on the arm of an older man, her father.
Val swept her an abrupt bow. "Miss Royle. Sir."
Hippolyta Royle was the only daughter of Sir George Royle, who had gone to the East Indies to make his fortune and had done quite a good job indeed. The result was that Miss Royle had a dowry with few rivals in England.
"Your Grace." The lady's face, oval and proud and naturally olive-complexioned, paled at the sight of him.
Actually, he was rather used to that sort of reaction to his sudden appearance.
Blackmailer, and all.
He took her hand and brought it to his lips, peering over her knuckles. Her fingers were trembling. "Might I have the pleasure of this next dance, Miss Royle?"
Oh, she wanted to deny him, he could tell. Her full berry-red lips were pressed together, her dark brows gathered. The lady did not look entirely happy.
A state of affairs that didn't escape her father. "My dear?"
She patted the elderly man's hand. "It's nothing, Papa. It's just so hot in here."
"Then perhaps if we venture close to the windows-"
"Oh, but I insist on a turn on the floor," Val purred, his pulse racing, his nostrils flared. If she darted for cover he'd spring and sink his teeth into her. She was prey- his prey, and he'd not let her go. She was a prize and he'd parade her before all.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“As he brought her back to her waiting parent he lowered his head to hers and said, "I'll call on you next week, shall I?"
The hand on his arm jerked, but she kept her composure. "I beg your pardon, Your Grace?"
"I intend to court you," he informed her kindly, and then added to make it perfectly clear, "and make you my wife."
She swallowed. "Oh, no."
He smiled. "Oh, yes.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“He was a terrible, evil man, and most likely mad to boot. She knew that.
And yet.
As if he could hear her thoughts, his head turned and his eyes met hers.
She should've ducked before he could see her. That would've been the sensible thing to do- the smart thing to do. Instead she lifted her chin and stared back as if she were equal to a duke.
Without acknowledging the gentleman still talking to him, the duke pivoted and walked toward her.
Through that crowded ballroom, as if nothing stood between him and her. And all those people parted as if he were a ship cleaving the waves. Why shouldn't they? He was the Duke of Montgomery. Nothing stood in his way. He made sure of that.
He made her side and took her hand and simply said, "Come.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“You are a brave woman." Miss Royle shook her head. "And he is truly a wicked man."
"Yes, he is," Bridget replied. Unfortunately, Val's wickedness no longer seemed to be a deterrent to her.
Probably that should concern her.
She made her farewells and departed the carriage as circumspectly as she'd entered it, but as she made her way back to Hermes House, Pip by her side, she finally acknowledged it to herself.
Wicked or not, vain or not, outrageous or not, she was falling in love with the Duke of Montgomery.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“But worse- much, much worse- she'd run away herself.
That was unpardonable, unforgivable, unjustifiable.
Hit him, shame him, spit at him- anything but turn her back on him. She couldn't simply quit their game. That, that was not allowed.
And when he'd realized that she was out there on the stormy night moor, alone save an aristocratic lady and a goddamned bloody pony...
He growled beneath his breath.
She stilled against him, like a rabbit under a hound's jaws, her heart beating rapidly, and he was glad. She ought to be afraid of him. He was a very bad man and she was completely under his power. He could do anything to her.
Anything at all, really.
Time she learned that.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Naturally I find you surrounded by warm clouds and billowing white cloths," Val drawled in her ear, making her jump.
She whirled to find him standing right behind her. He wore slate blue today, the color neatly severe on him, his curling golden hair clubbed neatly back, his azure eyes watching her alertly for any weakness.
Oh, God, he'd had his mouth on her most intimate parts last night. What had possessed her to let him do that? It was of she'd been in some sort of sensual dream. The hot bath, his words, his hands, his lips...
He smiled and she knew, she absolutely knew that he knew what she was thinking about.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“She was just ordinary. From her horse's-mane hair to her sturdy, practical feet, she'd never turned men's heads. Oh, she wasn't ill-favored- her features were regular enough- but she knew, too, that she wasn't the sort of woman whom men flirted with. Whom men stared at. She'd had a few admirers in the past, but they hadn't been a multitude.
She was unremarkable.
The Duke of Montgomery was anything but.
Perhaps, then, that was what drew him to her- her very normality. Val was just quixotic enough to become fascinated- for a short time- by the prosaic.
That was quite a depressing thought, but Bridget faced it practically. She knew that whatever else happened they were not meant to be together for any length of time.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“I can't have my housekeeper rushing all about London so very agitated."
"Your housekeeper," Lord Caire said, his head snapping alarmingly to Val.
"Oh, yes, and rather more," Val drawled, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles in the most horrifying manner.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin

“Will you be traveling there again? To Istanbul and Arabia and the places where they follow the Koran?"
"I hope so," he said, laying aside the golden book very carefully. "The air is so hot there, warm and fragrant, the sky so blue, and the food tastes like nothing here. They have olives and dates and soft cheeses. I think you would like it, my Séraphine. You could dress in pink and gold and mahogany and lounge on silken pillows, listening to strange music. I'd buy you a little monkey with a vest and a hat to make you laugh and I'd sit and watch you and feed you juicy grapes."
She smiled sadly and drew off her stays. "And how would we get there, Val?"
"I'd hire a ship," he said taking a sip of his red wine. "No, I'd buy a ship- one of our very own. It'll have blue sails and a flag with a rooster on it. We'll take your mongrel and Mehmed and all his cats and set sail with fifty strong men. During the day we'll sit on deck and watch for mermaids and monsters in the waves, and at night we'll stare at the stars and then I'll make love to you until dawn."
"And after far Arabia?" she whispered as she drew off her chemise and stood nude save for her stockings and shoes. "What then?"
His smile faded and he looked very grave as she took off her shoes and stockings. "Why, Séraphine, then we would journey on to Egypt or India or China or indeed wherever else you please. Or even come round about here, back to foggy, bustling London, where, if nothing else, the pies and sausages are quite good, if that was what you wished. Just as long as I were with you and you with me, my sweet Séraphine.”
― Elizabeth Hoyt, Duke of Sin