Lisanne

“Helen wriggled in protest as his hand stole to the back of her skirts. She was wearing a ready-made traveling dress, which fit nicely after a few minor alterations made by one of Mrs. Allenby’s assistants. It was a simple design of light blue silk and cashmere, with a smart little waist-jacket. There was no bustle, and the skirts had been drawn back snugly to reveal the shape of her body. The skirts descended in a pretty fall of folds and pleats, with a large decorative bow placed high on her posterior. To her vexation, Rhys wouldn’t leave the bow alone. He was positively mesmerized by it. Every time she turned her back to him, she could feel him playing with it.

“Rhys, don’t!”

“I can’t help it. It calls to me.”

“You’ve seen bows on dresses before.”

“But not there. And not on you.” Reluctantly Rhys let go of her and pulled out his pocket watch. “The train should have departed by now. We’re five minutes late.”

“What are you in a rush for?” she asked.

“Bed,” came his succinct reply.

Helen smiled. She stood on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “We have a lifetime of nights together.”

“Aye, and we’ve already missed too many of them.”

Helen turned and bent to pick up her small valise, which had been set on the floor. At the same time, she heard the sound of fabric ripping.

Before Helen had straightened and twisted to look at the back of her skirts, she already knew what had happened. The bow hung limply, at least half of its stitches torn.

Meeting her indignant glance, Rhys looked as sheepish as a schoolboy caught with a stolen apple. “I didn’t know you were going to bend over.”

“What am I going to say to the lady’s maid when she sees this?”

He considered that for a moment. “Alas?” he suggested.

Helen’s lips quivered with unwilling amusement.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Marrying Winterborne

“Half measures. My God. I love you so much that I’m drowning in it. I can’t defend against it. I don’t know who I am anymore. All I know is that if I give in to it entirely—” He tried to control the anarchy of his breath. “You mean too much to me,” he said raggedly.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Winter

“It's so exhausting pretending to hate you.”
― Christina Lauren, The Unhoneymooners

“You’re not a wallflower. But you have my permission to hide in corners, my sweet—so long as you take me with you. In fact, I’ll insist on it.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Winter