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“You cheated!”
He looked at her, wide-eyed with feigned outrage. “I beg your pardon. If you were a man, I would call you out for that accusation.”
“And I assure you, my lord, that I would ride forth victoriously on behalf of truth, humility, and righteousness.”
“Are you quoting the Bible to me?”
“Indeed,” she said primly, the portrait of piousness.
“While gambling.”
“What better location to attempt to reform one such as you?”
― Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake
He looked at her, wide-eyed with feigned outrage. “I beg your pardon. If you were a man, I would call you out for that accusation.”
“And I assure you, my lord, that I would ride forth victoriously on behalf of truth, humility, and righteousness.”
“Are you quoting the Bible to me?”
“Indeed,” she said primly, the portrait of piousness.
“While gambling.”
“What better location to attempt to reform one such as you?”
― Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake
“Kisses should not leave you satisfied. They should leave you wanting.”
― Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake
― Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake
“A well-read woman is a dangerous creature.”
― A Wallflower Christmas
― A Wallflower Christmas
“Dear Sixpence,
I saved them all, you know. Every letter you ever sent, even those to which I never replied. I’m sorry for so many things, my love: that I left
you; that I never came home; that it took me so long to realize that you were my home and that, with you by my side, none of the rest
mattered.
But in the darkest hours, on the coldest nights, when I felt I’d lost everything, I still had your letters. And through them, in some small way,
I still had you.
I loved you then, my darling Penelope, more than I could imagine—just as I love you now, more than you can know.
Michael
Hell House, February 1831”
― A Rogue by Any Other Name
I saved them all, you know. Every letter you ever sent, even those to which I never replied. I’m sorry for so many things, my love: that I left
you; that I never came home; that it took me so long to realize that you were my home and that, with you by my side, none of the rest
mattered.
But in the darkest hours, on the coldest nights, when I felt I’d lost everything, I still had your letters. And through them, in some small way,
I still had you.
I loved you then, my darling Penelope, more than I could imagine—just as I love you now, more than you can know.
Michael
Hell House, February 1831”
― A Rogue by Any Other Name
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