Makay

“He held my gaze for a long moment. I realized that the fire was very warm, and that I was standing very close to a very handsome gentleman who held my hand in his. Philip looked down. “You brave girl,” he murmured, running a light finger along my palm. It was so soft a touch that it did not hurt at all. But it did send a wave of feeling through my hand, up my arm, all the way to my heart. I had never experienced such a sensation before, and I found it completely unnerving.”
― Julianne Donaldson, Edenbrooke

“Did he hurt you?” The emotion I was trying to suppress clawed at my throat, unleashed by the gentleness in Philip’s voice. Without warning, a tear slipped down my cheek. I swiped it away.”
― Julianne Donaldson, Edenbrooke

“I was, er, twirling,” I said. His lips twitched. “I cannot imagine it. You must demonstrate for me.” I glared at him. “I certainly will not. It was not meant for an audience. It was just something I did because . . .” I waved my hand around, at a complete loss for words.”
― Julianne Donaldson, Edenbrooke

“Very well.” In a voice as cool and detached as if he were critiquing a work of art, he said, “Starting at the top: your brow is marked with intelligence, your gaze is direct, your features are delicate, your skin is fair, your voice is refined, your speech reflects education . . .” He paused. “Even the way you hold your head is elegant.” I was suddenly, excruciatingly self-conscious. I dropped my gaze, my face on fire. “Ah, yes,” he said softly. “And then there is your modesty. No milkmaid could have blushed like that.” To my mortification, I felt my blush deepen until the tips of my ears were tingling with the heat. “Shall I continue?” he asked with a hint of a laugh in his voice. “No, that is quite enough, thank you.”
― Julianne Donaldson, Edenbrooke