Cold Hearted Rake Quotes

Roza..." The voice caressed my skin, cold and deadly. Still scrutinizing his surroundings, Dimitri took one step forward. Then another. And then another. I think it occurred to him to look up the instant I jumped. My body slammed into his, knocking him to the ground back first. He immediately tried to throw me off, just as I tried to drive the stake through his heart. Signs of fatigue and fighting were all over him. Defeating the other Strigoi had taken its toll, though I doubted I was in much better shape. We grappled, and once, I managed to rake the stake over his cheek. He snarled in pain but kept his chest well protected. Over it, I could see where I'd ripped his shirt the first time I'd staked him. The wound had already healed. "You. Are. Amazing," he said, his words full of both pride and battle fury.

The right words can bind someone more effectively than chains.

I know many scientific facts about the human heart- not the least of which is that it's far easier to make a heart stop beating entirely than to keep it from loving the wrong person.

Never apologize to women. It only confirms that you were wrong, and incenses them further.

Pandora, you promised to abide by the rules.” “I do,” Pandora protested, looking chagrined. “I follow all the rules that I can remember.

Just because you don’t understand or agree with something doesn’t mean that it lacks merit.

The purpose of society is to prevent natural behavior.

West paused. “My God, I can feel sincerity rising in my chest like a digestive disorder. I have to stop.

When I die," he continued, "you're next in line." "Do you actually believe I'll outlive you?" West asked. "With my vices?" "I have just as many." "Yes, but I'm far more enthusiastic about mine.

Has anyone been corrupted or defiled?" "Since the age of twelve," West said. "I wasn't asking you, I was asking the girls." "Not yet," Cassandra replied cheerfully.

Although she was not conventionally beautiful, she was so original that it rendered the question of beauty inconsequential.

I’ve heard that hat making drives people mad,” Pandora remarked. “Which I don’t understand, because it doesn’t seem tedious enough to do that.” “It isn’t the job that drives them mad,” West said. “It’s the mercury solution they use to smooth the felt. After repeated exposure, it addles the brain. Hence the term ‘mad as a hatter.

What do ladies wear beneath their riding trousers?" "I would think an infamous rake would already know." "I was never infamous. In fact, I'm fairly standard as far as rakes go." "The ones who deny it are the worst.

Helen spent three days in Rhys Winterborne's room babbling incessantly while he lay there feverish and mostly silent. She became heartily tired of the sound of her own voice, and said something to that effect near the end of the second day. "I'm not," he said shortly. "Keep talking.

Those aren't my favorite," Helen admitted. "But I hope to love them someday. Sometimes one must love something before it becomes lovable.

I suppose you'd have ten wives if you could." "I'd be sufficiently miserable with one. The other nine would be redundant.

Time is what I'm giving you," he said, staring down at her. His hand curved beneath her chin, compelling her to look at him. "There's only one way for me to prove that I will love you and be faithful to you for the rest of my life. And that's by loving you and being faithful to you for the rest of my life. Even if you don't want me. Even if you choose not to be with me. I'm giving you all the time I have left. I vow to you that from this moment on, I will never touch another woman, or give my heart to anyone but you. If I have to wait sixty years, not a minute will have been wasted- because I'll have spent all of them loving you.

No, he keeps the schedule of a cat. Long hours of slumber interrupted by brief periods of self-grooming.

How careful she always was with books: they had been her companions, her entertainment, and her only window to the outside world.

Devon glanced at him with mild surprise. “For a man who’s seldom more than half sober, you’ve noticed a great deal.” “Have I?” West looked perturbed. “Forgive me – I seem to have become accidentally lucid.” He reached for his wineglass.

West stood and strode to the door. “Is this what it’s like to have a family?” he asked irritably. “Endless arguing, and talking about feelings from dawn to dusk? When the devil can I do as I please and not have to account to a half-dozen people for it?” “When you live alone on an island with a single palm tree and a coconut,” Kathleen snapped. “And even then, I’m sure you would find the coconut far too demanding.

Hard work often produces better results than talent.

It’s nothing for you to worry about.” “Whenever someone says that,” Pandora said, “it always means the opposite. Along with ‘It’s only a scratch’ or ‘Worse things happen at sea.’ ” “Or,” Clara added glumly, ‘I’m only going out for a pint.

i've had enough of this. if you'll excuse me, i'm going to find a tavern where i can pay an underdressed woman to sit it my lap and look very pleased with me while i drink heavily

it’s far easier to make a heart stop beating entirely than to keep it from loving the wrong person.

Do you think a commoner should dare to dress like a blue blood?” Rhys asked as Quincy pulled the hem of the robe over his legs. “I believe every man ought to dress as well as he is able.” Rhys’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think it’s right for people to judge a man for what he wears?” “It is not for me to decide whether it is right, sir. The fact is, they do.

Let her cover the mark as she will,'" he quoted sardonically, "'the pang of it will always be in her heart.

Vi?" Jag's soft voice called from the other room. I'd been soaking so long, the water in the tub was cold. I stepped out, careful not to get the book wet, and wrapped a towel around myself. "In here," I whispered. He had switched the lamp on and was rubbing his eyes when I came into the bedroom. "Hey." I slipped the book back onto the table next to his bed. "I didn't get it wet." "Not. That." His eyes raked over my only-towel-covered body with a hungry expression. "Knock it off." I pulled the towel tighter and returned to the bathroom. He followed me, putting his hand on the door before I could close it. I looked anywhere but at him. Lying fully clothed in bed with him was bad enough. I couldn't help it when I drank him in, starting at his feet and slowly creeping up to his neck, past his chin, lips, nose to his eyes. When I finally reached them, my heart clutched almost painfully. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat, playing with the end of my towel. "Vi, babe-" "Don't talk like that," I said. He smiled his Jag-winner. I took a shuddering breath and tried to focus. "Don't smile like that either. It's not fair." "Okay, then. Let's talk about being fair." He carefully wove his fingers through mine. The way he studied the ground was adorable. He took a few slow steps back into the bedroom, pulling me with him. "Jag-

I die,” he continued, “you’re next in line.” “Do you actually believe I’ll outlive you?” West asked. “With all my vices?” “I have just as many.” “Yes, but I’m far more enthusiastic about mine.

If it helps you to understand Kathleen a little better,” she said uncertainly, “perhaps I should explain something. Will you swear on your honor to keep it in confidence?" “Of course,” Devon said readily. Having no honor, he never hesitated to promise something on it.

Let me kiss you here,” he coaxed. “Just once.” “Oh, God… no.” She reached down and weakly pushed his hand away. “It’s a sin.” “How do you know?” “Because it feels like one,” she managed to say. He laughed quietly and pulled her hips farther toward him with a decisiveness that drew a little yelp from her. “In that case… I never sin by half measures.

What are you going to say if she tells you that she had a row with Winterborne?” Cassandra asked. “I’ll tell her to have more of them,” Kathleen said. “One can’t allow a man to have his way all the time.” She paused reflectively. “Once Lord Berwick told me that when a horse pulls at the reins, one should never pull back. Instead, loosen them. But never more than an inch.

She strained as he began to kiss along the side of her neck. Her skin was hot from exertion, a little salty, and her scent was divinely arousing: horses, fresh winter air, roses.

We're both going to hell," Kathleen said as he kissed along the seam of her clenched thighs. "I've always assumed I would." Devon didn't sound all troubled by the prospect.

I’ve always enjoyed a comfortable life without having to perform a single day of honest labor. Now I have responsibilities.

He knows the rules,” Kathleen said darkly. “And he enjoys breaking them.” My

Conversing with strangers isn’t easy.” “It is if you don’t care what you say,” Pandora advised. “Or what their opinion of you might be,” Cassandra added.

What are you going to say if she tells you that she had a row with Winterborne?” Cassandra asked. “I’ll tell her to have more of them,” Kathleen said. “One can’t allow a man to have his way all the time.

All it takes is six cuts,” he said near her ear. She nodded, relaxing against him as he guided her hands with precision. One deep stroke of the blade neatly removed an angled section of wood. They rotated the pencil and made another cut, and then a third, creating a precise triangular prism. “Now trim the sharp edges.” They concentrated on the task with his hands still bracketed over hers, using the blade to chamfer each corner of wood until they had created a clean, satisfying point. Done.

You took Theo's title and his home," West continued in appalled disbelief, "and now you want his wife." "His widow," Devon muttered. "Have you seduced her?" "Not yet." West clapped his hand to his forehead. "Christ. Don't you think she's suffered enough?

I had imagined that a man who owned a department store would be very charming and put people at ease.” West grinned at that. “He can be. But the moments when he’s charming and putting people at ease are when he’s most dangerous. Never trust him when he’s nice.

Just try to be sincere, and you should have no difficulty.” “I have no talent for sincerity,” West muttered. “It’s not a talent,” Kathleen said. “It’s a willingness to speak from your heart, rather than trying to be amusing or evasive.” “Please,” West said tersely. “I’m already nauseous.

You see, Eversby Priory is in good hands: yours. You’ve changed hundreds of lives for the better, including mine. Whatever the word is for a man who’s done all that…it’s not ‘scapegrace.’” West paused. “My God, I can feel sincerity rising in my chest like a digestive disorder. I have to stop.

The pleasure of holding her washed through him in repeated waves. She was petite and fine-boned, the delicious fragrance of roses rising to his nostrils. He'd noticed it when he'd held her earlier... not a cloying perfume, but a light floral essence swept with the sharp freshness of winter air.

Mr. Ravenel is here on a business matter, and the tenants need his attention far more than we do.” “But Kathleen,” Cassandra said in concern, “we mustn’t let him work himself into exhaustion.” Kathleen burst out laughing. “Darling, I doubt he’s ever worked a day in his life. Let’s not distract him on his first attempt.

How long will you be away?” “Three days,” he said cheerfully. “You’ll scarcely have time to miss me before I’m back.” “I wouldn’t miss you no matter how long you were gone.

More to the point, the footman conveyed your luggage to one of the upstairs rooms, but no one seems to know which one.” “Has anyone thought of asking him?” Devon suggested dryly.

I should think he’ll be put in the papers for this,” another exclaimed. “I hope so,” West said, “if only because I know how he would loathe it.

Desire,” he said, “is always better motivation than fear. Remember that, Quincy.

In fact, few landowners of his rank seem to understand what they’re facing.” “But you and Lord Trenear do?” West grinned suddenly. “No, we don’t either. The only difference is, we know it.

What is the matter?” “You stink of spirits.” “I always begin the day with brandied coffee.” “How do you expect to ride when you’re not steady on your feet?” “The same way I always ride--badly.

Did you think that we were going to go through life completely unaltered?” he asked. “That we would occupy ourselves with nothing but selfish pleasures and trivial amusements?” “I was counting on it!

My condolences for your loss,” he said. “My congratulations for your gain.” Devon frowned. “I assure you, I never wanted your husband’s title.” “It’s true,” West said. “He complained about it all the way from London.” Devon sent his brother a damning glance.

To Kathleen’s surprise, West didn’t leave. He returned to the house and went to his room. At least, she thought darkly, he’d made no further attempt to mount a horse while he was drunk, which she supposed put him above her late husband in terms of intelligence.

Pandora, you promised to abide by the rules.” “I do,” Pandora protested, looking chagrined. “I follow all the rules that I can remember.” “How is it that you remember the details of a plumbing system but not basic etiquette?” “Because plumbing is more interesting.

He belongs to a pugilism club where they batter each other senseless, in the savate style.” “What is that?” “A kind of fighting that developed in the streets of Old Paris. Quite vicious. My brother secretly hopes to be attacked by ruffians someday, but so far, no luck.

My God, I almost didn’t reach him in time. Had I arrived just a few seconds later--” West took a shuddering breath and averted his face. “He wouldn’t have done this before, you know. He used to have more sense than to risk his neck for someone else. Especially strangers. The numbskull.

I take it you don’t ride often in town?” “No, I travel by foot or hackney.” “But your brother…” Kathleen began, thinking of Devon’s assured horsemanship. “He rides every morning. A big dapple gray that’s as mean as the devil if it goes one day without hard exercise.” A pause. “They have that in common.

I wonder if I should have Darjeeling tea?" West mused aloud. "No, perhaps something stronger... Ceylon or pekoe... and some of the little buns with the cream and jam... What were those, Kathleen?" "Cornish splits." "Ah. No wonder I like them. It sounds like something I once saw performed at a dance hall.

I’ll help you catch up with the mowers if you’ll show me how to do that.” The farmer glanced at West’s tailored clothes. “You’re not dressed for field work, sir.” “I insist,” West said, shrugging out of his jacket and handing it to Kathleen. “With any luck, I’ll develop a callus to show people afterward.

They deserve the same opportunities that other young ladies of their rank enjoy. I’d like to make that possible, but I can’t do it without you staying here to bring them along.” He smiled slightly. “Of course, you would be free to train Asad as well. I suspect he’ll learn table manners before Pandora does.

We shouldn't have left." Keeley paced the kitchen, stopping at the windows on each pass. Why weren't they back? "Darling, you're shaking.Come on now, sit and drink your tea." "I can't.What's wrong with men? They'd have beaten that idiot to a pulp.I'm not that surprised at Brian,I suppose, but I expected more restraint from Dad." Genuinely surprised, Adelia glanced over. "Why?" As worry ate through her she raked her hands through her hair. "He's contained. Now you,I could see you taking a few swings..." SHe winced. "No offense," she said, then saw that her mother was grinning. "None taken.My temper might be a bit, we'll say, more colorful than your father's. His tends to be cold and deliberate when it's called for.And it was.The man hurt and frightened his little girl." "His little girl was about to attempt to gut the man with a hoof pick." Keeley blew out a breath. "I've never seen Dad hit anyone, or look like he wanted to keep right on with it.

I’ll be damned if I have to win her approval before making decisions about my estate.” “Unlike either of us, she has a conscience. It won’t hurt you at all to hear her opinion. Especially since she happens to be right.” “You just said you agreed with my position!” “From a practical standpoint. Morally, Kathleen is right.

What has happened to you? I hardly recognize you.” “Nothing’s happened. What do you--oh, yes, I’ve lost a bit of weight. Never mind that, I’ve just arranged to purchase a threshing machine.” West’s face glowed with pleasure. At first Devon thought he was being sarcastic. My brother, he thought, is excited over farming equipment.

He seemed exactly like the kind of man that Lady Berwick, who had raised Kathleen, had warned her about. “You will encounter men who will have designs on you, my dear. Men without scruple, who will employ charm, lies, and seductive skills to ruin innocent young women for their own impure gratification. When you find yourself in the company of such a scoundrel, flee without hesitation.” “But how will I know if a man is a scoundrel?” Kathleen had asked. “By the unwholesome glint in his eye and the ease of his charm. His presence may excite rather lurid sensations. Such a man has a certain something in his physical presence . . . a quality of ‘animal spirits,’ as my mama used to call it.

White’s is a more prestigious club than Brabbler’s.” “Most clubs are,” Devon rejoined wryly. “But the air is a bit too thin in such elevated circles. And if White’s didn’t want me before I was an earl, there’s no reason for them to want me now. I’m unchanged in every regard except for the fact that I’m now as deeply in debt as the rest of the peerage.

You think he should turn to dairying and livestock,” Kathleen said. “It would be easier and more profitable than trying to farm lowland clay.” “You may be right,” she told him ruefully. “But in this part of England, breeding livestock is not considered as respectable as working the land.” “What the devil is the difference? Either way, one ends up shoveling manure.

Will you take another cup of tea?” Cassandra asked. “I’ll have a brandy,” West retorted, “along with a wedge of currant pie, a plate of cheese, a bowl of potato and turnip mash, and a beefsteak.” Cassandra smiled. “I’ll ask the doctor if you may have some broth.” “Broth?” he repeated indignantly. “Come along, Hamlet,” Pandora said, “before West decides he wants bacon as well.

It’s easier to think of you as an adversary.” Devon smiled faintly. “That puts us in an awkward situation, then, as I’ve decided against selling the estate.” Kathleen was too astonished to reply. She couldn’t believe it. Had she heard him correctly? “Eversby Priory’s situation is so desperate,” Devon continued, “that few men could conceivably make it worse. Of course, I’m probably one of them.

Weak sunlight slanted across the table, flecked with glimmering, floating dust motes, some of them swirling around the light blue petals. Confusion spread through her as she saw the inflorescence of glowing blooms. The broad ovoid leaves were clan and glossy, and the roots anchored among the crushed clay pottery shards had been carefully trimmed and kept damped. The Blue Vanda hadn't sickened in Winterborne's care... it had thrived. Helen leaned over the orchid, touching the beautiful arc of its stem with a single fingertip. Shaking her head in wonder, she felt a tickle at the edge of her chin, and didn't realize it was a tear until she saw it drop onto one of the Vanda's leaves. "Oh, Mr. Winterborne," she whispered, and reached up to wipe at her wet cheeks. "Rhys. There's been a mistake.

I’ll have you know,” Mrs. Church said in amazement, “it took our two stoutest footmen to bring that crate into the house. How did two young ladies manage to carry it away so quickly?” “Sh-sheer determination,” Helen wheezed. “All I want in this life,” West told Kathleen, “is to see you try to pry that crate away from those two." “I wouldn’t dare,” she replied, giving up. “They would do me bodily harm.

Although she didn't possess the robust sunstruck prettiness of her younger sisters, Helen was compelling in her own way, like the cool glow of moonlight. Her skin was very fair, her hair the lightest shade of blond. Kathleen found it interesting that although Lord and Lady Trenear had named all four of their children after figures of Greek mythology, Helen was the only one who had been given the name of a mortal.

I wish I could claim to have a mother from steady, pragmatic stock, to balance out the Ravenel wildness. Unfortunately she was worse.” “Worse?” Kathleen asked, her eyes widening. “She had a temper?” “No, but she was unstable. Flighty. It’s no exaggeration to say there were days at a time when she forgot she even had children.” “My parents were very attentive and involved,” Kathleen volunteered after a moment. “As long as you were a horse.

They're installing a boiler system," Pandora said, flipping through a book. "It's a set of two large copper cylinders filled with water pipes that are heated by gas burners. One never has to wait for the hot water- it comes at once through expansion pipes attached to the top of the boiler." "Pandora," Kathleen asked suspiciously, "how do you know all that?" "The master plumber explained it to me." "Dear," Helen said gently, "it's not seemly for you to converse with a man when you haven't been introduced. Especially a laborer in our home." "But Helen, he's old. He looks like Father Christmas." "Age has nothing to do with it," Kathleen said crisply. "Pandora, you promised to abide by the rules." "I do," Pandora protested, looking chagrined. "I follow all the rules that I can remember." "How is it that you remember the details of a plumbing system but not basic etiquette?" "Because plumbing is more interesting.

You owe me a pair of shoes.” He sat astride the chair and braced his arms on the back of it. “I owe you more than that.” A few months ago, Devon reflected, it was doubtful that West would have had the physical strength, let alone the presence of mind, to haul him out of the river. “Thank you,” he said simply, holding his brother’s gaze. “It was wholly self-serving, I assure you. I have no desire to be the Earl of Trenear.” Devon gave a short laugh. “Nor do I.

Glancing around the entrance hall, she realized the crate was no longer in the corner. The twins must have raced downstairs the moment it had been mentioned. Clutching it on either side, they lugged it furtively toward the receiving room. "Girls," Kathleen said sharply, "bring that back here at once!" But it was too late. The receiving room's double doors closed, accompanied by the click of a key turning in the lock. Kathleen stopped short, her jaw slackening. West and Helen staggered together, overcome with hilarity. "I'll have you know," Mrs. Church said in amazement, "it took our two stoutest footmen to bring that crate into the house. How did two young ladies manage to carry it away so quickly?" "Sh-sheer determination," Helen wheezed. "All I want in this life," West told Kathleen, "is to see you try to pry that crate away from those two." "I wouldn't dare," she replied, giving up. "They would do me bodily harm.

How do you know?” his brother asked. “Everyone knows, West. Grain prices have collapsed. When did you last read an issue of the Times? Have you paid no attention to the discussions at the club or the taverns?” “Not when the subject was farming,” came West’s dour reply. He sat heavily, rubbing his temples. “I don’t like this. I thought we had agreed never to be serious about anything.” “I’m trying. But death and poverty have a way of making everything seem rather less amusing.

On the other hand,” West concluded, “it’s not altogether hopeless, as long as Devon is doing his job.” “What is his job?” Cassandra asked. “Finding capital,” West told her. “A great deal of it.” “It must be difficult for a gentleman to find money without working,” Pandora said. “Especially when all the criminals are trying to do the same thing.” West drowned a grin in his goblet of water. “I have every faith,” he replied, “that my brother will either outsmart the criminals, or join them.

You play with great skill," he said. "Thank you." "Is that your favorite piece?" "It's my most difficult," Helen said, "but not my favorite." "What do you play when there's no one to hear?" The gentle question, spoken in that accent with vowels as broad as his shoulders, caused Helen's stomach to tighten pleasurably. Perturbed by the sensation, she was slow to reply. "I don't remember the name of it. A piano tutor taught it to me long ago. For years I've tried to find out what it is, but no one has ever recognized the melody." "Play it for me." Calling it up from memory, she played the sweetly haunting chords, her hands gentle on the keys. The mournful chords never failed to stir her, making her heart ache for things she couldn't name. At the conclusion, Helen looked up from the keys and found Winterborne staring at her as if transfixed. He masked his expression, but not before she saw a mixture of puzzlement, fascination, and a hint of something hot and unsettling. "It's Welsh," he said. Helen shook her head with a laugh of wondering disbelief. "You know it?" "'A Ei Di'r Deryn Do.' Every Welshman is born knowing it." "What is it about?" "A lover who asks a blackbird to carry a message to his sweetheart." "Why can't he go to her himself?" Helen realized they were both speaking in hushed tones, as if they were exchanging secrets. "He can't find her. He's too deep in love- it keeps him from seeing clearly." "Does the blackbird find her?" "The song doesn't say," he said with a shrug. "But I must know the ending to the story," Helen protested. Winterborne laughed. It was an irresistible sound, rough-soft and sly. When he replied, his accent had thickened. "That's what comes o' reading novels, it is. The story needs no ending. That's not what matters." "What matters, then?" she dared to ask. His dark gaze held hers. "That he loves. That he's searching. Like the rest of us poor devils, he has no way of knowing if he'll ever have his heart's desire.

May I interrupt you for a few moments?” “Of course.” She gestured to a chair near her writing desk, and set the pen in its holder. Noticing the deliberately bland expression on his face, she asked, “What scheme are you hatching?” He blinked in surprise. “How do you know there’s a scheme?” “Whenever you try to look innocent, it’s obvious you’re up to something.” West grinned. “The girls wouldn’t dare approach you about it, but I told them I would, since it’s been established that I can outrun you when necessary.

Furious and ashamed, Kathleen turned and went to the door. She flung it open without pausing to consider the need for discretion, and ran across the threshold. The breath was nearly knocked from her as she collided with a sturdy form. “What the--” she heard West say, while he reached out to steady her. “What is it? Can I help?” “Yes,” she snapped, “you can throw your brother back into that river.” She strode away before he could respond. West wandered into the master bedroom. “Back to your usual charming self, I see.

Madam, My sincere thanks for your offer to speak to the tenants regarding the drainage issues. However, since you are already burdened with many demands, I have sent my brother, Weston, to handle the problem. He will arrive at Eversby Priory on Wednesday, and stay for a fortnight. I have lectured him at length about gentlemanly conduct. If he causes you a moment’s distress, wire me and it will be resolved immediately. My brother will arrive at the Alton rail station at noon on Saturday. I do hope you’ll send someone to collect him, since I feel certain no one else will want him. Trenear P.S. Did you really dye the shawl black? My Lord, Amid the daily tumult of construction, which is louder than an army corps of drums, your brother’s presence will likely go unnoticed. We will fetch him on Wednesday. Lady Trenear P.S. Why did you send me a shawl so obviously unsuitable for mourning? In response to Kathleen’s letter, a telegram was delivered from the village post office on the morning of West’s scheduled arrival. Madam, You won’t be in mourning forever. Trenear

Why didn’t your brother take you to London for the season when he was courting Kathleen?” She met his gaze directly. “Town held no interest for me; I was happier staying here.” West’s hand slid over hers and squeezed briefly. “Little friend…let me give you some advice that may prove helpful in the future, when you’re in society. When you lie, don’t fidget with your hands. Keep them still and relaxed in your lap.” “I wasn’t--” Helen broke off abruptly. After a slow breath, she spoke calmly. “I wanted to go, but Theo didn’t think I was ready.” “Better.” He grinned at her. “Still a lie…but better.

He hated it when women cried. At the first sign of tears, he had always bolted like a hare at a coursing. But as soon as his arms had gone around Kathleen, in one ordinary instant, the world, the past, everything he'd always been certain of had all been obliterated. She had reached for him, not out of passion or fear, but the simple human need for closeness. It had electrified him. No one had ever sought comfort from him before, and the act of giving it had felt more unspeakably intimate than the most torrent sexual encounter. He'd felt the force of his entire being wrap around her in a moment of sweet, raw connection.

It was unexpected, the way West’s politeness seemed to have transformed into genuine interest in the process taking place before him. Kathleen watched him thoughtfully, finding it difficult to reconcile the drunken lout of yesterday with this attentive, engaging stranger. One would almost think he gave a damn about the estate and its tenants. At the end of the row, West stood, dusted his hands, and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his face. Strickland blotted his own brow with his sleeve. “Next I could show you how to mow,” he offered cheerfully. “Thank you, no,” West replied with a rueful grin, looking so much like Devon that Kathleen felt a quick pang of recognition. “I’m sure I shouldn’t be trusted with a sharp blade.

But Kathleen," Cassandra pleaded, "we've had no amusement for so long." "Of course you haven't," Kathleen said, steeling herself against a stab of guilt. "People aren't supposed to have amusements when they're in mourning." The twins fell silent, glowering at her. Devon broke the tension by asking Cassandra lightly, "Permission to go ashore, Captain?" "Aye," came the sullen reply, "you and the wench can leave by way of the plank." Kathleen frowned. "Kindly do not refer to me as a wench, Cassandra." "It's better than 'bilge rat,'" Pandora said in a surly tone. "Which is the term I would have used." After giving her a chiding glance, Kathleen returned to the graveled walk, with Devon by her side. "Well?" she asked after a moment. "Aren't you going to criticize as well?" "I can't think of anything to add to 'bilge rat.

I realized this morning that I need to stay here a bit longer than I’d originally planned,” he said. “Another fortnight, or better yet, a month. There’s still too much I haven’t learned.” “Stay then,” Kathleen said matter-of-factly. West glanced at her in surprise. “You wouldn’t object?” “Not if it will help the tenants.” “What if I remained through Christmas?” “Certainly,” she said without hesitation. “You have more claim to stay here than I do. But won’t you miss your life in town?” West’s lips quirked as he glanced down at his plate. “I miss…certain things. However, there is much to do here, and my brother has a shortage of trustworthy advisors. In fact, few landowners of his rank seem to understand what they’re facing.” “But you and Lord Trenear do?” West grinned suddenly. “No, we don’t either. The only difference is, we know it.

Devon pushed open the bathroom door. He was fully clothed in a gray wool suit, although he wore no necktie, and his cuffs and collar had been left unfastened. His face was expressionless. “Will you help with this?” he asked, extending his arm. Hesitantly Kathleen reached out to fasten one of his loose cuffs. The backs of her knuckles brushed the skin on the inside of his wrist, where the skin was blood-heated and smooth. Acutely aware of the measured sound of his breathing, she fastened the other cuff. Reaching up to the sides of his open shirt collar, she drew them together and proceeded to fasten them with a small gold stud that had been left dangling in the buttonhole. As she slid her fingers beneath the front of the collar, she could feel the ripple of his swallow. “Thank you,” Devon said. There was a slight rasp in his voice, as if his throat had gone dry.

The amiable relationship between West and Kathleen was immediately obvious upon their return to Eversby Priory. Kathleen came to the entrance hall while the butler was still collecting their hats and coats, and propped her hands on her hips as she viewed West with mock suspicion. “Have you brought back any farm animals?” she asked. “Not this time.” West smiled and went to kiss her forehead. To Devon’s surprise, Kathleen accepted the affectionate gesture without protest. “Did you learn as much as you’d hoped?” she asked. “Ten times more,” West said promptly. “On the subject of fertilizer alone, I could regale you for hours.” Kathleen laughed, but her expression became remote as she turned to Devon. “My lord.” Annoyed by the stilted acknowledgement, Devon nodded in return. It appeared that she had decided to hold him at arm's length and pretend the kiss had never happened.

Kathleen was halfway down the hallway before West could catch up to her. Having become acquainted with Kathleen, and knowing Devon as well as anyone could, West could say with authority that they brought out the worst in each other. When they were in the same room, he reflected with exasperation, tempers flared and words became bullets. The devil knew why they found it so difficult to be civil to each other. “Kathleen,” West said quietly as he reached her. She stopped and turned to face him. Her face was drawn, her mouth tight. Having endured the lash of Devon’s temper more than a few times in the past, West understood how deeply it could cut. “The estate’s financial disaster is not of Devon’s making,” he said. “He’s only trying to minimize the casualties. You can’t blame him for that.” “Tell me what I can blame him for, then.” “In this situation?” A note of apology entered his voice. “Being realistic.

Why is it,” he asked instead, “that if I kept livestock in my home, people would say I was ignorant or daft, but if a pig wanders freely in the mansion of an earl, it’s called eccentric?” “There are three things that everyone expects of an aristocrat,” the valet replied, tugging firmly at the pig’s collar. “A country house, and a weak chin, and eccentricity.” He pushed and pulled at the pig with increasing determination, but the creature only sat more heavily. “I vow,” the valet wheezed, budging him only an inch at a time, “I’ll have you turned into sausage and collops by tomorrow’s breakfast!” Ignoring the determined valet, the pig stared up at Rhys with patient, hopeful eyes. “Quincy,” Rhys said, “look sharp.” He picked up a bread roll from his plate and tossed it casually in the air. The valet caught it deftly in a white-gloved hand. “Thank you, sir.” As he walked to the door with the bread in hand, the pig trotted after him. Rhys watched with a faint smile. “Desire,” he said, “is always better motivation than fear. Remember that, Quincy.

How long will you be away?” “Three days,” he said cheerfully. “You’ll scarcely have time to miss me before I’m back.” “I wouldn’t miss you no matter how long you were gone.” But Kathleen looked over him with concern as the butler helped him don his hat and coat. When he returned, she thought, they would have to take in his clothes again; he had lost at least another stone. “Don’t forget to eat while you’re away,” she scolded. “You’ll soon be mistaken for a scarecrow if you keep missing your dinner.” The constant exercise of riding across the estate lands, walking the fields, helping a farmer repair a gate or retrieve a ewe that had jumped a garden wall, had wrought considerable changes in West. He’d lost so much weight that his garments hung on his frame. The bloat had melted from his face and neck, revealing a firm jawline and hard profile. All the time spent outdoors had imparted healthy color to his complexion, and he appeared years younger, an air of vitality replacing the look of sleepy indolence. West leaned down to press a light kiss on her forehead. “Good-bye, Attila,” he said affectionately. “Try not to browbeat everyone in my absence.

As soon as Devon left his room, he was overwhelmed by a surplus of unwanted attention. Not one but two footmen accompanied him down the stairs, eagerly pointing out dangers such as the edge of a particular step that wasn’t quite smooth, or a section of the curved balustrade that might be slippery from a recent polishing. After negotiating the apparent perils of the staircase, Devon continued through the main hall and was obligated to stop along the way as a row of housemaids curtsied and uttered a chorus of “Happy Christmas” and “God bless you, milord,” and offered abundant wishes for his good health. Abashed by the role he seemed to have been cast in, Devon smiled and thanked them. He made his painstaking way to the dining room, which was filled with lavish arrangements of Christmas flowers, and hung with evergreen garlands twined with gold ribbon. Kathleen, West and the twins were all seated, laughing and chatting with relaxed good humor. “We knew you were approaching,” Pandora said to Devon, “from all the happy voices we could hear in the entrance hall.” “He’s not accustomed to people exclaiming happily when he arrives,” West said gravely. “Usually they do it when he leaves.

Lively as kittens,” West said as he and Devon walked to the library. “They’re quite wasted out here in the country. I’ll confess, I never knew that the company of innocent girls could be so amusing.” “What if they were to take part in the London season?” Devon asked. It was one of approximately a thousand questions buzzing in his mind. “How would you rate their prospects?” West looked bemused. “At catching husbands? Nonexistent.” “Even Lady Helen?” “Lady Helen is an angel. Lovely, quiet, accomplished…she should have her pick of suitors. But the men who would be appropriate for her will never come up to scratch. Nowadays no one can afford a girl who lacks a dowry.” “There are men who could afford her,” Devon said absently. “Who?” “Some of the fellows we’re acquainted with…Severin, or Winterborne…” “If they’re friends of ours, I wouldn’t pair Lady Helen with one of them. She was bred to marry a cultivated man of leisure, not a barbarian.” “I would hardly call a department store owner a barbarian.” “Rhys Winterborne is vulgar, ruthless, willing to compromise any principle for personal gain…qualities I admire, of course…but he would never do for Lady Helen. They would make each other exceedingly unhappy.” “Of course they would. It’s marriage.

You wished to discuss something before you depart?” “Yes, regarding the estate, I’ve come to some conclusions--” “I do hope--” she began, and broke off. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to--” “Go on.” Kathleen dropped her gaze to her clenched hands as she spoke. “My lord, if you decide to dismiss any of the servants…or indeed all of them…I hope you take into account that some have served the Ravenels for their entire lives. Perhaps you might consider giving small parting sums to the oldest ones who have little hope of securing other employment.” “I’ll bear it in mind.” She could feel him looking at her, his gaze as tangible as the heat of sunlight. The mahogany bracket clock on the mantel measured out the silence with delicate ticks. His voice was soft. “You’re nervous with me.” “After yesterday--” She broke off and swallowed hard, and nodded. “No one but the two of us will ever know about that.” Even if Kathleen chose to believe him, it didn’t set her at ease. The memory was an unwanted bond with him. He had seen her at her weakest, her lowest, and she would have preferred him to be mocking rather than treat her with gentleness. She forced herself to meet his gaze as she admitted with vexed honesty, “It’s easier to think of you as an adversary.” Devon smiled faintly. “That puts us in an awkward situation, then, as I’ve decided against selling the estate.

Mr. Ravenel, if you are to spend a fortnight here, you will conduct yourself like a gentleman, or I will have you forcibly taken to Alton and tossed onto the first railway car that stops at the station.” West blinked and looked at her, clearly wondering if she was serious. “Those girls are the most important thing in the world to me,” Kathleen said. “I will not allow them to be harmed.” “I have no intention of harming anyone,” West said, offended. “I’m here at the earl’s behest to talk to a set of clodhoppers about their turnip planting. As soon as that’s concluded, I can promise you that I’ll return to London with all possible haste.” Clodhoppers? Kathleen drew in a sharp breath, thinking of the tenant families and the way they worked and persevered and endured the hardships of farming…all to put food on the table of men such as this, who looked down his nose at them. “The families who live here,” she managed to say, “are worthy of your respect. Generations of tenant farmers built this estate--and precious little reward they’ve received in return. Go into their cottages, and see the conditions in which they live, and contrast it with your own circumstances. And then perhaps you might ask yourself if you’re worthy of their respect.” “Good God,” West muttered, “my brother was right. You do have the temperament of a baited badger.” They exchanged glances of mutual loathing and walked away from each other.

Cousin West,” Kathleen said a month later, fiercely pursuing him down the grand staircase, “stop running away. I want a word with you.” West didn’t slow his pace. “Not while you’re chasing me like Attila the Hun.” “Tell me why you did it.” She reached the bottom step at the same time he did and swung around to block his escape. “Kindly explain what deranged mode of thinking caused you to bring a pig into the house!” Cornered, he resorted to honesty. “I wasn’t thinking. I was at John Potter’s farm, and he was about to cull the piglet because it was undersized.” “A common practice, as I understand it,” she said curtly. “The creature looked at me,” West protested. “It seemed to be smiling.” “All pigs seem to be smiling. Their mouths are curved upwards.” “I couldn’t help it; I had to bring him home.” Kathleen shook her head disapprovingly as she looked at him. The twins had already bottle-fed the creature with a formula of cow’s milk whisked with raw egg, while Helen had lined a basket with soft cloth for it to sleep in. Now there was no getting rid of it. “What do you intend for us to do with the pig once it’s full-grown?” she demanded. West considered that. “Eat it?” She let out an exasperated huff. “The girls have already named it Hamlet. Would you have us eat a family pet, Mr. Ravenel?” “I would if it turned into bacon.” West smiled at her expression. “I’ll return the pig to the farmer when it’s weaned,” he offered.

Shall I have the carriage readied in time for you to catch the late morning train?” “I’m afraid you won’t be that fortunate.” West took a swallow of tea. “I can’t go back to London. I have to stay in Hampshire until I’ve met with all the tenants I had planned to visit.” “Mr. Ravenel--” “I have to,” he said doggedly. “My brother never asks anything of me. Which is why I’ll do this even if it kills me.” Kathleen glanced at him in surprise. “Very well,” she said after a moment. “Shall we send for Mr. Carlow to accompany you?” “I rather hoped that you would go with me.” Seeing her expression, West added warily, “Only for today.” “Mr. Carlow is far more familiar with the tenants and their situations--” “His presence may prove to be inhibiting. I want them to speak to me frankly.” He glared at his plate. “Not that I expect more than a half-dozen words from any of them. I know what that sort thinks of me: a city toff. A great useless peacock who knows nothing about the superior virtues of farm life.” “I don’t think they’ll judge you severely, so long as they believe that you’re not judging them. Just try to be sincere, and you should have no difficulty.” “I have no talent for sincerity,” West muttered. “It’s not a talent,” Kathleen said. “It’s a willingness to speak from your heart, rather than trying to be amusing or evasive.” “Please,” West said tersely. “I’m already nauseous.” Scowling, he took another bite of the bacon sandwich.

Is it true?” Kathleen asked. “The story you were telling about Devon?” After draining the tea in two gulps, West gave her a haunted glance. “All true. The son of a bitch almost succeeded in killing himself.” Kathleen took the cup from his lax fingers. “I don’t know how he did it,” West continued. “I was in the water for no more than two minutes, and my legs went numb to the bone. It was agony. By all accounts, Devon was in that river for at least twenty minutes, the reckless lackwit.” “Saving children,” Kathleen said, feigning scorn. “How dare he?” “Yes,” West said with no trace of humor. He stared at the leaping fire, brooding. “Now I understand what you once said to me about all the people who depend on him--and I’ve become one of them. Damn him to hell. My brother can’t take arse-headed chances with his life again, or I swear I’ll kill him.” “I understand,” she said, aware of the fear lurking beneath his caustic words. “No, you don’t. You weren’t there. My God, I almost didn’t reach him in time. Had I arrived just a few seconds later--” West took a shuddering breath and averted his face. “He wouldn’t have done this before, you know. He used to have more sense than to risk his neck for someone else. Especially strangers. The numbskull.” Kathleen smiled. Swallowing back the tightness in her throat, she reached out and smoothed his hair back. “My dear friend,” she whispered, “I’m sorry to have to say this…but you would have done the same thing.

Before he could explain further, however, Rhys happened to catch sight of a slim, dark shape walking past the doorway. It was only a fleeting glimpse... but it was enough to send a jolt of awareness through him. "You," he said in a voice that carried out into the hallway. "Whoever just passed by the door. Come here." In the riveting silence, a young woman appeared at the threshold. Her features were delicately angular, her silver blue eyes round and wide-set. As she stood at the edge of the lamplight, her fair skin and pale blond hair seemed to hold their own radiance, an effect he'd seen in paintings of Old Testament angels. "There's a grain about it," Rhys's father had always said when he'd wanted to describe something fine and polished and perfect, something of the highest quality. Oh, there was a grain about this woman. She was only medium height, but her extreme slenderness gave her the illusion of being taller. Her breasts were high and gently rounded beneath the high-necked dress, and for a pleasurable, disorienting moment Rhys remembered resting his head there as she had given him sips of orchid tea. "Say something," he commanded gruffly. The shy glow of her smile gilded the air. "I'm glad to see you in better health, Mr. Winterborne." Helen's voice. She was more beautiful than starlight, and just as unattainable. As he stared at her, Rhys was bitterly reminded of the upper-class ladies who had looked at him with contempt when he was a shop boy, holding their skirts back if he passed near them on the street, the way they would seek to avoid a filthy stray dog. "Is there something I can do for you?" she asked. Rhys shook his head, still unable to take his gaze from her. "I only wanted a face to go with the voice.