Nikka Blanco

“Every person who is really an artist desires to create inside of himself another, deeper, more interesting life than the one that actually surrounds him.”
― Constantin Stanislavski

“One question I feel compelled to ask; Before they agreed to marry, did all the Cynster females behave as irrationally as Heather is?"
He glanced briefly up, but Richard didn't look up from the lure he was tying off as he unperturably replied, "Prickly at the best of times, then 'have-at-you' the instant you set a foot, nay, a toe, wrong?"
"Exactly."
"Then yes." Richard straightened, tipping his head as he examined his lure. "It seems to be a family failing, even when they're not Cynster-born."
Breckenridge humphed.
He was carefully placing the fresh hook into his clamp when Richard continued, "There seems to be this prevailing wisdom, not just over marrying for love, but what that actually equates to. They seem to all have it firmly in their heads that without some cast-iron assurance, preferably in the form of an open declaration from us, then no matter the reality of any love, that love won't be solid and strong."
Unwinding the vise to release his completed lure, Richard grimaced. "It's almost as if they think that unless we state our feelings out aloud, we won't know what they-our feelings-are." He snorted. "As if we somehow might not notice that our lives have suddenly shifted to revolve solely about them and their well-being."
Breckenridge grunted in masculine agreement.
"Sadly," Richard said, selecting another hook, "it appears futile to expect them to go against the familial grain.”
― Stephanie Laurens, Viscount Breckenridge to the Rescue

“No matter how long you have been waiting, the man God has for you will surpass your expectations. You will meet him when god says so. Not a minute early, not a moment later.”
― Michelle McKinney-Hammond

“You may set your mind at rest, Miss Anstruther-Wetherby." He glanced down, the planes of his face granite-hard. "I'm not marrying you because of any social stricture. That, if you consider it, is a nonsensical idea. Cynsters, as you well know, do not give a damn about social strictures. Society, as far as we're concerned, can think what it pleases—it does not rule us."
"But… if that's the case—and given your reputation I can readily believe it is—why insist on marrying me?"
"Because I want to."
The words were delivered as the most patently obvious answer to a simple question. Honoria held on to her temper. "Because you want to?"
He nodded.
"That's it? Just because you want to?"
The look he sent her was calculated to quell. "For a Cynster, that's a perfectly adequate reason. In fact, for a Cynster, there is no better reason."
He looked ahead again; Honoria glanced at his profile. "This is ridiculous. You only set eyes on me yesterday, and now you want to marry me?"
Again he nodded.
"Why?"
The glance he shot her was too brief for her to read. "It so happens I need a wife, and you're the perfect candidate." With that, he altered their direction and lengthened his stride even more.
"I am not a racehorse."
His lips thinned, but he slowed--just enough so she didn't have to run. They'd gained the graveled walk that circled the house. It took her a moment to replay his words, another to see their weakness. "That's still ridiculous. You must have half the female population of the ton waiting to catch your handkerchief every time you blow your nose."
He didn't even glance her way. "At least half."
"So why me?"
Devil considered telling her--in graphic detail. Instead, he gritted his teeth and growled: "Because you're unique."
"Unique?"
Unique in that she was arguing.”
― Stephanie Laurens, Devil's Bride