Deen Quotes

Ka'b ibn Malik reported that the Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, said, "Two hungry wolves loose among sheep do not cause as much damage as that caused to a man's deen by his greed for money and reputation.

There once was a boy with a future. Until all he had left was his past.

Everyday you wake up on the right side of the dirt is a good one.

If it’s a slip or even a fall in your deen (religion), don’t let shaytan (satan) deceive you. Let the slip make you witness His mercy in a more experiential and deep way. And then seek that mercy to save you from your sins and your own transgression against yourself.

If you have a dream, FOLLOW IT.

Bein' rich is having leftovers. Good leftovers make yo' tongue fly outta yo' mouth and smack yo' brains out.

لله درّ من قال: وليس بناج من مقالة طاعن ولو كنت في غار على جبل وعر ومن ذا الذي ينجو من الناس سالماً ولو غاب عنهم بين خافيتي نسر Nor could I ever escape from abuse, Even were I in a cave in a rugged mountain; For who can escape from the people unharmed, Even if he hides behind the eagle's wings?

The earth isn’t spinning because you told it to do so. Your intestines aren’t digesting by your command. You’re made up of a trillion cells who don’t ask your permission before offering their rakats. And we think submission is applying strict discipline to our worship? We think surrender is about not eating a pig? It’s just not that small to me. i can’t fit my deen into a neat little box, because to me everything comes from Allah. Birds sing Allah’s name. to say Allah is in this book and not that… do you know who you’re talking about? the Allah that made you from a clot and clothed in flesh… Allah is too big and open for my deen to be small and closed.

His lazy grin incinerated the rest of my heart.

We have certain practices that have nothing to do with Islam today. And we consider them staple parts without questioning whether they are really part of the deen or not.

Two hungry wolves let loose among sheep are not more harmful then a person craving after wealth and status is to his Deen (Religion).

You make this sound like a chore for you, like a job. This...," he pressed his fingers to my heart, "it's about love for me--undying, unwavering, unrelenting love. A love that won't let me move on, it won't let me get over you. I don't want to focus on the sickness that could replace you in my heart. I don't want to think of what will happen if I stop fighting for you, for us. But, sometimes I feel like I'm alone in this fight.

I pressed my lips to his and felt the addictive draw that everyone told me about. It was so much more enticing than anyone could have ever described.

The Messenger of Allah ﷺ said, "When Allah wishes good for someone, He bestows upon him the understanding of Deen." (Muttafaqun 'alaih) Riyaadhus Sholihin Book 13, Hadith 1376

Meda Ishq Vi Toon Meda Yaar Vi Toon Meda Deen Vi Toon Eeman Vi Toon Meda Jism Vi Toon Meda Rooh Vi Toon Meda Qalb Vi Toon Jind Jaan Vi Toon Meda Kaba Qibla Masjid Mimbar Mushaf Te Quran Vi Toon Mede Farz Fareezay, Hajj, Zakataan Soum Salaat Azaan Vi Toon Meri Zohd Ibadat Ta’at Taqwa Ilm Vi Toon Irfan Vi Toon Mera Zikr Vi Toon Meda Fikr Vi Toon Mera Zouq Vi Toon Wajdan Vi Toon Meda Sanwal Mithra Shaam Saloona Mun Mohan Janaan Vi Toon Meda Murshid Haadi Peer Tareeqat Shaikh Haqaa’iq Daan Vi Toon Meda Aas Ummed Te Khattaya Wattaya Takia Maan Taran Vi Toon Mera Dharam Vi Toon Meda Bharam Vi Toon Meda Sharam Vi Toon Meda Shaan Vi Toon Meda Dukh Sukh Ro’wan Khilan Vi Toon Meda Dard Vi Toon Darmaan Vi Toon Meda Khushiyan Da Asbaab Vi Toon Mede Soolaan Da Samaan Vi Toon Mera Husn Te Bhaag Suhaag Vi Toon Meda Bakht Te Naam Nishaan Vi Toon Meda Ishq Vi Toon Meda Yaar Vi Toon Meda Deen Vi Toon Eeman Vi Toon Meda Jism Vi Toon Meda Rooh Vi Toon Meda Qalb Vi Toon Jind Jaan Vi Toon Meda Kaba Qibla Masjid Mimbar Mushaf Te Quran Vi Toon Meda Ishq Vi Toon Meda Yaar Vi Toon Meda Deen Vi Toon Eeman Vi Toon Meda Ishq Vi Toon Meda Yaar Vi Toon

I is what I is.

His smile and beautiful green eyes drew me in and made my knees weak..."You know, my heart almost stopped when you kissed me.

You know this isn't right. You know you aren't supposed to be with him. If you do this with him...if you continue to fall in love with him...I will die.

You know, I am so sick of cuttin' on my television and everyone on it is obsessed with livin' forever. Well, I have a news flash: Ain't none of us gettin' out of her alive.

Why can't you understand that I love you so much, that not being able to touch you hurts? I can't stand the fact that I can't get into your thoughts. Haventon is gone to you, but it's also gone to me. I miss it so much. It feels like my heart's been ripped out from my chest.

No path is a dead end. We're meant to walk around, get lost, and go the wrong way down the one-way street.

You are meant for me, and I for you," Brandon whispered in my ear, and pressed his lips to my neck, sending more dreams of our future through me.

Your heart can't be in two places at once, at least not while maintaining a relationship.

The minute you see him, your hand will throb, your heart will pound out of your chest, and you won't be able to breathe.

When caught in a world where your very essence feels shameful, life turns into a feverish obsession with suppressing your true identity in favor of a socially accepted one.

A gentleman never comes first, and if he does, he better be making it up to his lady tenfold.

They need a deen that's not your uncle's deen.

Then there is THAT kiss! The one on your forehead. Your face held in both his hands. It’s so soft and longing. Telling you how absolutely treasured you are. It’s not sexual, it’s loving, it’s everything.

DEEN: What about you? KIRAN: Hmm . . . seeing the future! KIRAN: I want to be able to see the future. DEEN: Feeling anxious about the future? KIRAN: Yeah. Always. KIRAN: Especially lately. DEEN: How’s your mom, btw? KIRAN: To be determined. KIRAN: It’s just a waiting game now. DEEN: OKAY I know my real answer now!!! DEEN: Healing powers. DEEN: Definitely healing powers. KIRAN: Heh KIRAN: You’re a good guy, Deen. DEEN: Only for you.

We aren't defined only by our failures and sorrows. I'm starting to believe we're an assortment. A few big events, but countless smaller details. Little joys that carry us through the days, even when those days are bad.

But, it was all true. I love you, more than my own life. More than anyone can humanly love anyone else. Every inch of you...I breathe you, everyday. I live only to be with you." Hearing him confessing his devotion, made every part of my body tingle.

for us to get to our final destination, the road is not always level or smooth. Sometimes it’s full of rocks and cliffs, and slippery slopes, and to make matters worse, we’re walking in the dark. Perhaps life isn’t to question the road, but to persevere until the light comes.

Family hug,” I would announce as the children prepared to leave, after they were bundled into their coats and hats and mittens, and the six of us would gather near the door and squeeze together in a tight circle. “Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss,” we would all go, puckering lips against cheeks and foreheads.

Loneliness is not the worst emotion

You can’t invent a historically memorable event, unless it really happened.

Logic will get you nowhere if it’s faith you’re after.

I feel like myself again when I'm with you. When we're together, I don't feel broken.

The feelings for each of them competing for space in my heart and justification in my mind.

I will thank the universe every day for bringing you to me.

They found its teachings profound. So much love. So much joy. Such inner peace. In their idealism, they overlooked its harsher realities.

I was like a visitor from a different era encountering our modern one, captivated by its very mundaneness.

OK. Your father says faith is beyond reason.” “And so?” “I disagree,” Chezky said. “Faith is fully within reason.

Deene had a refreshing ignorance concerning collies; and indeed of nineteen dog-breeds out of twenty. But he had an equally refreshing faith in himself to give wise decisions on any and all canine matters. So, obligingly, he consented to judge collies at Greenwold in addition to his beloved and ultra-tiny Chihuahuas. A similar thing has been done too often to call for comment.

They were Muslims, man, but not your uncles. They need a deen that's not your uncle's deen. Iman, think about it like that, iman! It's supposed to be all about having no fear of death, right? And we got that part down, we've done that and we have plenty of Muslims who aren't afraid to die. Mash'Allah--but now Muslims are afraid to fuckin' live! They fear life, yakee, more than they fear shaytans or shirk or fitna or bid'a or kafr or qiyamah or the torments in the grave, they fear Life... You got all these poor kids who think they're inferior because they don't get their two Fajr in, their four Zuhr, four Asr... they don't have beards, they don't wear hejab, maybe they went to their fuckin' high school proms and the only masjid around was regular horsehit-horseshit-takbir-masjid and they had to pretend like they were doing everything right...well I say fuck that and this whole house says fuck that--even Umar, you think Umar can go in a regular masjid with all his stupid tattoos and dumb straghtedge bands? Even Umar, bro, as much as he tries to Wahabbi-hard-ass his way around here, he's still one of us. He's still fuckin' taqwacore.

it’s stupid to think that listening to God means your life will be easy.” I stared at him, daring him to justify his comment. “Jesus listened to God all the time, and his life sucked. People called him names, his friends betrayed him, and he was murdered.” He gave me a meaningful look, and then turned back to the road. “He was God’s only Son. If anyone knew what God wanted, it was Him.

When she gets older, she’ll understand the magnetic pull your heart has when its other half is close by. You feel them just as much as see them, and your eyes will find them even in a sea of people.

Zeal compensates for fear. A soldier is whipped into a jingoistic frenzy before battle—because how else does one withstand the fear of death? The religious zealot who shouts, beats, and kills is perhaps not the one who is secure with his faith but the one who is so fearful of the challenges, so aware of the fickleness of conviction, that he has no choice but to strengthen it with the drumbeat of mindless fanaticism.

I’ve taken a sudden notion to appreciate mature females,” Deene was saying. “Though if her brothers ask, I’m being protective in their absence. Hold my drink.” And that, the simple fact of Deene’s unthinking response to a gorgeous woman, saved Hazlit from making a similar fool of himself. He supposed he’d make a little different fool of himself later in the evening, after Maggie had had her fun and left a trail of broken hearts all over the room. When

But what did it mean to have faith in the righteous? Was it to have faith in their very righteousness? There was something maddeningly circular about that—how did one know if they were righteous enough to have faith in? By faith?

Oh, for God’s sake.” Westhaven sounded most displeased. “Evie just switched her glass of wassail for Deene’s, and the idiot man didn’t even notice.” Maggie’s brows knit. “Why does that matter?” “Because,” St. Just said as Westhaven moved off, “Deene’s is spiked with a dose of the loveliest white rum ever to knock a grown man on his arse.” Maggie took a little sip of her drink. “So’s mine.” Val reached over and plucked her glass from her hand. “Then you’d better share, sister dear, or I’m going to go fetch Sindal here myself.” ***

Who you have feelings for—that is not a choice. Feelings happen whether you want them to or not. But love isn’t a feeling; it’s the act of planting a seed and putting in the time and care it needs to grow. It demands hard work and renewal to survive. It demands commitment. By necessity, it cannot be taken lightly.

I had been grateful for her willingness to keep in touch. If I was not there to see my children each night when they came home from school, to have dinners with them and do homework and take them shopping and work on school assignments, I could at least get regular updates from her. How would I be a parent to them now?

Ben stood at the parlor window, glancing neither to the right nor to the left of him lest he see three grown men looking as worried as he felt. Westhaven found the courage to speak first. “Either we’ve all developed a fascination with red tulips, or somebody had better go out there and fetch the ladies in. They’ve neither of them likely thought to bring a handkerchief.” Deene screwed up his mouth. “Declarations of love—that’s what red tulips stand for.” His Grace cracked a small smile. “You young fellows. Quaking in your boots over a few female sentimentalities. Believe I’ll go make some declarations of my own.” He set down his empty glass and left the room. “Marriage,” said Westhaven, “calls for a particular variety of courage. I’m thinking His Grace’s experience in the cavalry is likely serving him well right now.” “Come away.” Ben took each man by the arm, but neither of them moved. “Let him make his charge in private. I have some ideas for you both to consider, and if you’re with me, His Grace will fall in line that much more easily.” Westhaven smiled, looking very like his father. “Don’t bet on it. Windhams can be contrary for the sheer hell of it.” This was a joke or a warning. Ben wasn’t sure which. “The Portmaine family motto is ‘We thrive on impossible challenges.’” Deene arched a blond eyebrow. “You just manufactured that for present purposes. You’re from the North, and your family motto is probably something like ‘Thank God for friendly sheep.’” Which

He likes to touch me and not just… all kinds of touches. He takes my hand. He puts his arm around my waist or my shoulders. When he takes a seat beside me, there’s no decorous space between us, even if we’re in company or before the servants. He’s like… a cat, or a dog. Proximity seems to comfort him.” Brushing her hair comforted him, assisting her to dress and undress comforted him, feeding her, and most wonderful of all—cuddling up the entire night long, not just for a few minutes of postcoital lassitude, comforted him each and every night. Eve admitted to herself that she took comfort from all these casual generosities on Deene’s part too. They nourished her confidence in some way she could not describe and fed some other emotion she wasn’t likely to discuss with anybody, ever. “This

Mr. Harrison is gallant, and he understands art. Deene says the menfolk chatted away an entire afternoon while Jenny eavesdropped, and Mr. Harrison had eyes only for her.” Maggie picked up Timothy, though how he’d gotten into the room was a mystery. “Mr. Harrison insisted Jenny be free to help him complete his commissions, though when I pop into the studio, Jenny’s always before her own easel, spattered in paint and looking…” “Happy,” Sophie said. “She looks happy when she paints.” The cat started purring in Maggie’s lap, loud enough for all to hear. “We’re agreed, then,” Louisa said. “Mr. Harrison makes Jenny happy, and Paris would make her miserable.” Eve yawned, Maggie stroked the cat, and Sophie picked up an embroidery hoop. “Paris would make her miserable, if she were allowed to go, which will never come to pass as long as Their Graces draw breath.

Zarqawi insisted that his group was behaving in a strictly Islamic manner: “the Mujahideen carry out their operations under strict adherence to the rules of engagement as set forth by Allah, His messenger, our prophet Muhammad, and his companions.” His followers’ Islam-approved methods followed from their overall goal as jihad warriors: “And why not? After all, the Mujahideen took to the battle fields only to establish the Deen [religion] of Allah (Islam), to make the word of Allah high above any others, and to gain the pleasure of Allah.” This statement is noteworthy in light of the fact that Western analysts universally ascribe the roots of jihad terror to poverty, lack of educational or economic opportunity—anything other than an endeavor to “establish the Deen of Allah” and “to make the word of Allah high above any others, and to gain the pleasure of Allah.

What the West does not understand about Islamism is that Jihad is very systematic. It has stages. If Muslims have the upper hand, then Jihad is waged by force. If Muslims do not have the upper hand, then Jihad is waged through financial and political means. Since Muslims do not have the upper hand in America or Europe, they talk about peace in front of you while supporting Hamas and Hezbollah in the back room. The whole idea of Islam being a peaceful religion emanates from that silent stage of Jihad. Sheikh Qaradawi has taught Muslims this form of trickery at conferences in the U.S., I have it on video. At one conference, Qaradawi used the example of Salahu-Deen Al-Ayubi (Saladin). Saladin was asked to concede to peace with the verse from the Qur’an 8:61, “And if they incline to peace, then incline to it and trust in Allah.” However, from Qur’an 47:35, he replied, “And be not slack so as to cry for peace and you have the upper hand.”93

I am going to faint.” “You shall not.” Deene moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her, a bulwark against the roaring in her ears and the constriction in her chest. “Breathe, Evie. It’s just one more horse.” Oh, but not just any horse. Eve knew those gorgeous brown eyes, the deep chest, the little snip of pink skin on the end of the mare’s big, velvety nose. “She’s white now, no longer gray. This is my Sweetness, isn’t it? Tell me this is my dearest… oh, Husband. What have you done?” “I can send her back, if you’d rather not… I didn’t want to upset you, Evie. But you’d asked, and I thought perhaps you’d worried…” “Hush.” She turned in his arms to put her hand over his mouth, but then craned her neck to keep the mare in her sight. “Oh, hush. She will never leave my care again, never. You must promise me, Lucas. Right now, swear to me she is mine to keep.” “She is yours to keep, always. I swear it, vow it, and promise it. It’s in the settlements, it’s in the bill of sale, it’s in my last will and testament. She will always be yours to keep.” That

I make the very best halwa chebakia. With mint tea, or qamar-el-deen- you can take some home to your family." Such an offer cannot be refused. I know this from experience. Years of traveling with my mother have taught me that food is a universal passport. Whatever the constraints of language, culture or geography, food crosses over all boundaries. To offer food is to extend the hand of friendship; to accept is to be accepted into the most closed of communities. I wondered if Francis Reynaud had ever thought of this approach. Knowing him, he hasn't. Reynaud means well, but he isn't the type to buy halwa chebakia or to drink a glass of mint tea in the little café on the corner of the Boulevard P'tit Baghdad. I followed Fatima into the house, making sure to leave my shoes at the door. It was pleasantly cool inside and smelt of frangipani; the shutters closed since midday to guard against the heat of the sun. A door led into the kitchen, from which I caught the mingled scents of anise and almond and rosewater and chickpeas cooked in turmeric, and chopped mint, and toasted cardamom, and those wonderful halwa chebakia, sweet little sesame pastries deep-fried in oil, just small enough to pop into the mouth, flower-shaped and brittle and perfect with a glass of mint tea...

Have you always had this?” He pointed to a purple bruise that showed up the day I met him. “No. It just appeared.” I answered confused. He turned his palm upward to show me a similar mark on his palm. “We were meant to be.” He whispered and placed his palm over mine. Our marks were exactly in the same place; the place where his palm and my palm touched the first day we met. I barely whispered, “Brandon, I don’t understand.” The dizzy, lightheaded feeling was back. Brandon obviously didn’t understand the concept of personal space either as he pulled himself even closer to me. “I know. I’m sorry. We don’t have much time. You’re in danger.” “What do …” I started to lean back, but Brandon’s hands clasped to either side of my face and he pressed his smooth lips to mine.

So what will you do?” Joseph, Lord Kesmore, asked his brothers-by-marriage. Westhaven glanced around and noted Their Graces were absent, and the ladies were gathered near the hearth on the opposite side of the large, comfortable family parlor. “Do? I wasn’t aware we were required to do anything besides eat and drink in quantities sufficient to tide us over until summer of next year,” Westhaven said. The Marquess of Deene patted his flat tummy. “Hear, hear. And make toasts. One must make holiday toasts.” St. Just shifted where he lounged against the mantel. “Make babies, you mean. My sister looks like she’s expecting a foal, not a Windham grandchild, Deene.” Gentle ribbing ensued, which Westhaven knew was meant to alleviate the worry in Deene’s eyes. “The first baby is the worst,” Westhaven said. “His Grace confirms this. Thereafter, one has a sense of what to expect, and one’s lady is less anxious over the whole business.” “One’s lady?” Lord Valentine scoffed. “You fool nobody, Westhaven, but Kesmore raises an excellent point. Every time I peek into the studio in search of my baroness, all I see is that Harrison and Jenny are painting or arguing.” “Arguing is good,” Kesmore informed a glass that did not contain tea. “Louisa and I argue a great deal.” Respectful silence ensued before the Earl of Hazelton spoke up. “Maggie and I argue quite a bit as well. I daresay the consequences of one of our rousing donnybrooks will show up in midsummer.” Toasting followed, during which Lord Valentine admitted congratulations were also in order regarding his baroness, and St. Just allowed he suspected his countess was similarly blessed, but waiting until after Christmas to make her announcement. When

Some boys routinely left school at four, saying that their parents forbade them to study English, while the rest of us looked on in envy, wishing that our parents, too, were so pious.

The hardest lesson to learn as a parent is that your children are not copies of you. They are their own people who will make bad choices and mistakes.

Tristan looks gobsmacked. No, he looks more than gobsmacked. He looks like what gobsmacked looks like when it's gobsmacked. I can see his synaptic processors whirring and the flashing message coming up in capital letters: 404, page not found." —Natasha Deen, The Signs and Wonders of Tuna Rashad

Don’t let anyone belittle your efforts. You’re doing just fine. Keep up the good work! Keep on putting one foot in front of the other, taking one step at a time, even if they’re baby steps. No rushing and plunging headlong into things. Keep moving at a sure and steady pace!

He wondered what his best friend would think of that, to have gained a friendship even after death.

If their success intimidates or upsets you, then you have a problem. You’re not fully focused on your own journey. You’re also letting ego get in the way. Learn to disengage from what others are doing or not doing. Pay no attention to their harsh words too. Mind your own journey.

You don’t need the solution to everything. Some questions don’t need answers & they’re better left that way. You just need a firm heart, full of trust and firm belief. A heart full of love & peace. You’ll be amazed at how much more you can get out of the unspoken than just words!

Looking at the positives when calamity strikes is not for the faint-hearted. You need to have a solid link with your Maker. You understand that difficult times help move you forward. Struggle and strife are standard life lessons. Embrace them and see things in perspective!

Influential educational school in Abu Dhabi: Reach British School Selecting schools that speak about the type of education you want to impart to your kid is an important decision. Like all other difficult decisions that parenthood brings with it, this one too cannot be decided based on one impulsive thought. School is an important part of any child's growth. They learn, they giggle, and grow into beautiful individuals. Thus, schools build them into responsible beings. However, finding the right school can be research-heavy and hectic. International education in the United Arab Emirates is not cheap, and this adds to an extra load of pressure on deciding parents. Yet, Abu Dhabi is known to host an excellent range of international schools that are somewhat budget-friendly. The British International School is one such example, they surely secure a place in the list of best schools in Abu Dhabi. Why choose Reach British School? Reading through different curriculums, and googling into millions of school websites is a part of this decision-making. You look for that spark, one that you look for in any relationship. Yes, choosing a school is the beginning of a life-long relationship, an important part of your child’s life. This article will push you towards decision making, as it lists the points on why you should choose Reach British School. The following reasons will convince you that it fits into the best schools in Abu Dhabi. English proficiency The staff is filled with native English-speaking teachers. Thus, they bring with them, years of experience in the language field and absolute English proficiency. Being native English speakers, they can showcase experience in the UK or other international schools. Excellent facilities Schooling is a part of a child's overall growth, and there is more to it than just academics. Being one of the best schools in Abu Dhabi, they support an exciting curriculum. It includes sports, arts, academic subjects, and a bunch of other extra-curricular activities. High Academic standards and behavioral expectations A child grows into a successful human being, who is also a responsible citizen. Thus, the school sets a strong focus on the academic depth and the behavioral patterns of the child. They ensure that your child reaches their fullest potential in a safe and secure environment. Student progress tracking You will get a chance to be deeply involved in your child's progress. The school will provide regular reports on your child's growth that will give you a fair idea about their needs, likes, and dislikes. Thus, you can take an active part in their academic progress, social and emotional well-being. Secondary scholarships The school funds a scholarship program to motivate students to achieve their dreams. The program attracts bright minds and pushes them to reach their potential in the fields they are passionate about. Amazing learning Not just the staff, but also the environment of the school will enable your child to go through an amazing learning experience. Your child will be motivated and encouraged to perform better as that is the base for amazing learning. Endnotes Reach British School wants to let your child shine, in the truest sense possible. Keeping the tag of being one of the best schools in Abu Dhabi, is difficult. Thus, they aspire to be better every day and sculpt new souls into responsible adults, while protecting their innocence and childhood.

More than that, I need the joy, the euphoria.

This was a learning exercise. Take me down some winding path, give me a dead end, and I'm supposed to put it all together as a metaphor for my friendship with Emily.

Tristan looks gobsmacked. No, he looks more than gobsmacked. He looks like what gobsmacked looks like when it's gobsmacked. I can see his synaptic processors whirring and the flashing message coming up in capital letters: 404, page not found.

If the Talmud was built on the purported word of God, that word struck you as suspiciously human, with ambiguities and layers of meaning and all the arbitrariness of human language. The very idea of faith suggested something man-made--the idea that we must submit to conviction, rather than simply behold the universe in its natural order.

The ʿAql is a light in the heart just as sight is a light in the eyes.

There was nothing out of the ordinary in my household, and that’s the biggest problem of them all. The normalization of habitually consuming poison to elude the unpleasantness of subsistence.

Jenny has taken a daft notion to go to Paris.” Louisa knew she sounded worried, but it couldn’t be helped. The parlor door was closed, the syllabub had been served, and this was likely the only privacy the children, spouses, and parents would allow her with her sisters. “Paris in springtime is supposed to be lovely,” Sophie observed. “Sindal says he’ll take me one of these years, but there always seems to be a baby on the way or one just arrived.” Petite, blond Eve, her feet up on a hassock, patted her belly. “Please, God, let one arrive before I explode or Deene frets himself into a decline. Lou wouldn’t be worried if Jenny were making a quick shopping visit.” Maggie left off poking at the fire—no footmen would disturb this gathering—and took up a rocking chair. “Jenny told me the same thing. Told me not to be angry with her, but if she didn’t leave now, she’d never go.” “She needs a fellow,” Louisa said. “We all needed a fellow, and the boys needed their ladies.” Sophie considered her drink. “I don’t know, Lou. Your fellow lets you write all the poetry you want, and has you dedicate the racy verses to him. Ladies have been writing poetry for eons. Jenny’s art is a different matter.” “Deene let me ride King William,” Eve said. “Before I got as big as King William. Maybe the right fellow will encourage Jenny’s painting.” There

I was hoping Lady Anders might do me the honor of the supper waltz,” Hazlit said. The smile he aimed at Helene dazzled, for all it didn’t reach his eyes. “I promised this set to my brother,” Lady Helene replied, her show of regret equally superficial. “Perhaps you’d lead Miss Windham out in my stead? She’s been sitting here this age, good enough to keep a widow company amid all this gaiety.” Maggie glanced at her friend but saw only devilment in Helene’s eyes. “Lady Magdalene?” Hazlit held out a gloved hand. “May I have this dance?” The smile dimmed on his handsome face, and his gaze held hers. As much to get away from his inspection as anything, Maggie put her hand in his and rose. “I would be honored.” “Lady Helene, my thanks,” he said, holding up his left hand for Maggie to place her fingers over his knuckles. And it would be a blasted waltz. “You do not look honored,” he said, leading her to a position on the floor. “You look like you’re plotting the end of an association with Lady Anders.” “Helene has a peculiar sense of humor, but she knows I will retaliate at some point. I’ll make her dance with His Grace or perhaps with Deene.” “That would set tongues wagging.” He held out his left hand for Maggie to place her right in it. When she hesitated, he put her left hand on his shoulder, and took her right in his. “Really, Lady Magdalene, am I so offensive as all that? Your parents allow me under their roof, and your sister was happy enough to marry my half brother.” His hand at her waist was warm, even through her gown and stays. “You enjoy being difficult,” Maggie said as the orchestra began the introduction. “It isn’t becoming in a grown man. I’d take offense but I suspect you’re like this with most everybody.” “I can be charming.” “When it suits your purpose,” she said as the music began. “That isn’t charm, Mr. Hazlit. That is guile.” His

Want for your brother, what you want for yourself.

I can make you a promise, Eve Windham. Several promises, in fact.” “Just not vows, please. I cannot abide the thought of vows.” “If we marry, we will consummate the union for legal purposes and to put the compulsory obligations behind us. Thereafter, I will not press you for your attentions until such time as you indicate you are willing to be intimate with me in a marital sense.” She peered over at him. His cheeks were the same color now. “You would leave me in peace after one night?” “Not entirely. For appearances, we will live together as man and wife, share chambers, and go down to breakfast together. We will dote and fawn in public and make calf eyes at each other across the ballrooms, but I will not importune you.” The small, guttering flame of hope burned a trifle brighter. His plan had potential to avoid disaster. She did not know what motivated his foolish generosity, but the plain fact was, after the wedding night, he might not want to have anything to do with her. “And if I never indicate that I’m interested in my conjugal duties?” “Never is a long time, and I am a very determined man who is quite attracted to you. Also a man in need of heirs, and I am confident you’ll not deny me those.” The flame nearly went out. Of course he’d need heirs. “Unfair, Lucas.” Except, he was compromising, while Eve was practically loading four sets of dueling pistols and aiming them at Deene’s chest. “You have an heir.” “Who is unmarried, older than me, and for reasons not relevant to the current discussion, not a good candidate for marriage. The succession is my obligation, Eve, and I’ve avoided it long enough.” She had at least ten childbearing years left, possibly twenty. That was a long time to muddle through with a man who had been nothing but considerate toward her. And an impossibly long time to mourn him, should the worst occur. “On the conditions you’ve stated—that following the wedding night you will not exercise your rights unless and until I’m comfortable with the notion, we can be married, but, Lucas, when you hate the choice you’ve made—when you hate me—don’t say I didn’t warn you.” “I will not hate you, I will not hate my choice. That I do vow.” His

You are the first fellow Eve has permitted to do more than sniff her hem since her come out, Deene. If she wants you, then I’ll deliver you to her trussed up like a naked goose if I have to.” They’d

For God’s sake, Eve Windham, it was just a kiss under the mistletoe, probably inspired by your papa’s wassail more than anything else.” She had to put her hand on his arm while the feeling of the ground shifting beneath her feet swept over her. “My brothers said it was white rum.” “The occasional tot makes the holiday socializing less tedious. You really do not look well.” The last observation was grudging, almost worried. “I did not mean to swill from your glass, Deene. You should have stopped me.” They had to get to the coach. The night felt like it was closing in, and Deene’s voice—a perfect example of male aristocratic euphony—was swelling and shrinking in the oddest way. “I might have stopped you, except you downed the whole drink before I realized what was afoot, and then you were accosting me in the most passionate—” Eve clutched his arm and swayed into him, breathing shallowly through her mouth. “If you insist on arguing with me, my lord, I will be ill all over these bushes.” “Why didn’t you say so?” He slipped an arm around her waist and promenaded her down the steps. By the time they got to the garden gate, the nausea was subsiding, though Eve was leaning heavily on her escort. She had the notion that the scents of cedar and lavender coming from Deene’s jacket might have helped quiet her stomach. Deene ushered her through the gate, which put them on a quiet, mercifully dark side street. “How often do these headaches befall you?” “Too often. Sometimes I go for months between attacks, sometimes only days. The worst is when it hits on one side, subsides for a day, then strikes on the other.” Deene pulled one of his gloves off with his teeth, then used two fingers to give a piercing, three-blast whistle. “Sorry.” All the while he kept his arm around Eve’s waist, a solid, warm—and quite unexpected—bulwark against complete disability. “The coach will here in moments. Is there anything that helps?” “Absolute quiet, absolute dark, time.” Though her mother used to rub her neck, and that had helped the most. He said nothing more—Deene wasn’t stupid—and Eve just leaned on him. Her grandmother had apparently suffered from these same headaches, though neither Eve’s parents nor her siblings were afflicted. The clip-clop of hooves sounded like so much gunfire in Eve’s head, but it was the sound of privacy, so Eve tried to welcome it. Deene gave the coachy directions to the Windham mansion and climbed in after Eve. “Shall I sit beside you, my lady?” An odd little courtesy, that he would even ask. “Please. The less I move, the less uncomfortable I am.” He settled beside her and looped an arm around her shoulders. Without a single thought for dignity, skirmishes, or propriety, Eve laid her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and was grateful. ***

had been adorably tipsy, having swiped his glass of thoroughly spiked punch, and he’d enjoyed the effects of the alcohol on her demeanor. Enjoyed her passionate, artless, determined kisses much more—and much longer—than he should have. She’d been a cheerful, even mischievous girl, dear and sweet and easy to tease. With her brother Bart’s death, something had changed and not for the better. When Deene had made some courtesy calls after selling his commission, he’d found Eve Windham to be punctiliously proper, stiff, and even chilly toward him, though Bart had more than intimated that the lady had her reasons. She wasn’t chilly now. She was utterly undone. It pleased him not at all to see it. He had, though, been pleased to find himself accosted in the coat closet out at Morelands over the holidays. The old Eve had been there in that kiss—wicked, sweet, playful, but also all grown-up in the best places. “Eve,

Eve, we’re here. Shall I carry you?” She sat up slowly, her hand going to her forehead. “I can walk.” Or she’d crawl, or expire of pride in the filth of the mews before she’d allow him to assist her where others might notice. He handed her out of the carriage, and any fool could see she was none too steady on her feet. “You can ring a peal over my head later, my lady.” “Deene, no.” Such a weak protest wasn’t going to deter him from scooping her up against his chest and proceeding toward the house. “For once in your stubborn life, hush. Your brothers would expect this much of me.” The

Evening, Kesmore. What has lured you from the wilds of Kent so early in the year?” Kesmore’s dark brows twitched down. “Raising hogs is vulgarly profitable. I say this to you in strictest confidence as your neighbor and friend, and as a man who has seen you so drunk you sing odes to the barmaid’s feminine attributes. There is, however, a certain hardship upon the man—particularly a man newly married—who undertakes such a commercial endeavor when the weather moderates and the hog pens must be cleaned of several months’ worth of pig shit.” Despite the cloying heat of the ballroom, despite the gauntlet forming for him as the orchestra warmed up, Deene’s lips quirked up. “You came to Town to avoid the smell of pig shit?” “Pig shit wafting in my bedroom window at night, pig shit scenting my linen, pig shit… but I am whining, and thank all the gods it’s not me the mamas are trolling for this year.” Deene

As Kesmore stalked away, Deene lifted his flute to salute that helpful notion, and went back to leaning on a shadowed pillar as unobtrusively as he could. Given that he was several inches over six feet, his hair was golden blond perfectly hued to gleam by candlelight, and his title the highest available on the marriage mart in three years, he suspected his evening—and likely he, himself—were doomed. Two

Have we waltzed before, my lady?” “You have not had that pleasure since I put my hair up. The last time was at a Christmas gathering at Morelands. You were on leave with Bart and Devlin.” The music began, and as they moved off, Deene cast his memory back. He’d danced with several of the Windham sisters, even Maggie, who had been accounted the family recluse until she’d married Hazelton. He had danced with Eve on the last leave Lord Bart had taken before his death. When Deene glanced down at his partner, he saw a shadow of that recollection in her eyes, which would not do. He pulled her a trifle closer on the next turn. “Deene.” She made his title, just five letters, sound like an entire sermon on impropriety. “If you’re going to rescue me, you have to do a proper job of it.” He aimed a smile at her, pleased to see the shadows had fled from her eyes. “If I’m not seen to flirt with you, the Lady Staineses of the world will think I am still quite at large, maritally speaking.” “You are at large, maritally speaking. Just because I appropriated your company for one dance doesn’t mean I’ll be your decoy indefinitely.” “Decoy.” He considered the notion. “The idea has a great deal of merit. And you’re bound to me for supper as well, you know.” He saw by her slight grimace that she hadn’t intended this result. Her generosity had been spontaneous, then, which meant she hadn’t watched him being hounded and chased and harried the livelong evening. “A waltz and supper.” She paused while they twirled through another turn, and this time Deene pulled her a shade closer still then let her ease away. “Lucas Denning, behave, or I shall put it about you have a fondness for leeks.” He

Just for show, my dear. You must tell me how you’ve managed all these years to avoid wedded bliss. I will pay you handsomely for such a secret.” Her gaze flicked up from where she’d been staring determinedly at his shoulder. “You need a wife, Deene. You’ve only the one cousin to manage the succession, and he’s not married. Besides, I’m not avoiding anything. I simply haven’t taken.” “Haven’t taken?” He’d heard her brothers grumbling about having to beat Evie’s swains away with muttered threats and thunderous scowls. “I’m short. A proper English beauty is willowy, like Jenny.” She gave him the false smile again. “You fit me well enough.” The words were out, grumbled but honest, and Eve went back to staring at his shoulder. And

Now this is interesting.” He addressed a luscious strawberry, red-ripe all over, the exact shape and size a strawberry ought to be, but when had his chair shifted so close? “I am trying to do the pretty without being caught in parson’s mousetrap, I suffer a small lapse of propriety while under the influence with a lady whom all esteem, and you think it’s your name I’m protecting?” He popped the strawberry into his mouth and considered her in a lazy-lidded way that had Eve’s insides pitching in odd directions. “Why are you bristling, Deene? I’m offering my thanks.” He finished chewing the strawberry, though his blue eyes had bored into hers as he’d consumed it. “Did you enjoy our kiss, Evie?” Evie. Only her family called her that—and him. He said it with a particular intimate inflection her family never used though. She sat up very straight. “Your question has no proper answer. If I say no, then I am dishonest—I flew at you, after all, and you had to peel me off of you—and if I say yes, then I am wicked.” “Because if you did enjoy that kiss,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “for I certainly enjoyed it, then perhaps you might be thanking me for the kiss and not for keeping the silence any man with sense or manners would have kept.” With him staring at her like that, it was hard to grasp the sense of his words, but Eve made the effort. He was offended that she’d thanked him. Any man admitted under her parents’ roof would have been discreet about such a moment. He had enjoyed that kiss. He leaned forward, so close Eve could catch the scent of his lavender-and-cedar soap, so close she could… Feel his lips, soft and knowing, against her cheek. Oh, she should turn away. There was no convenient tankard of spiked punch to blame, no holiday cheer, no reckless sense of yet another sibling slipping away into marriage. His hand came up to cradle her jaw, then to shift her head slightly so she faced him. Those soft, knowing lips teased their way to her mouth, gently, inexorably.

Eve realized after about a week that her strategy wasn’t working. Part of the problem was that other than preventing Deene from starting his lawsuit, she wasn’t entirely sure what her aim had been. To keep him at arm’s length? That wasn’t happening. Each night, he made deeper inroads on her attempts to separate their routine: he brushed her hair, he attended her baths, he helped her into and out of her clothing, and he asked for her assistance with his. The staff was colluding with him, telling him when she ordered a bath, when she’d asked not to be disturbed in the middle of an afternoon. It was maddening, really, to find such a pleasant, considerate husband where Eve needed to find a calculating, underhanded, self-interested opponent. And if she’d intended to keep him from her bed? That wasn’t happening either. Each night he tended to his ablutions, then climbed between the sheets and took her in his arms. If she turned her back to him, he rubbed her back or her neck and shoulders. His attentions were unselfish, pleasurable, and in no way could Eve consider them intimate advances. And

And when the fair Louisa takes you into disfavor, Kesmore, do you go charging forth into the bedroom, saber at the ready, risking all, only to have her freeze you with a look or a word?” Kesmore pretended to fuss the pillow under his arse rather than smile openly at Deene’s misery. “It might surprise you to know, young Deene, that the fair Louisa, particularly on those rare and mistaken occasions when she has taken me into disfavor, generally wants me to come charging in with my saber at the ready. She is not a woman who finds a propensity for pretty talk a winning quality in her swain, and I am not a swain to disappoint my lady.” “If I do ask Evie what she wants of me,” Deene said, glowering at the fire, “she will say, if I have to ask her, then I don’t understand what the problem is, or some such rot. Women speak in riddles when you most need them to be clear and direct.” “Why do you need to be anything? Many a considerate husband goes for a week without pestering his wife, Deene. The ladies become indisposed, they get preoccupied, they… need their rest.” Deene blinked. “I’m thinking of entering William in the June meet at Epsom.” “Ah. A show of preoccupation. Brilliant strategy, one heartily endorsed by the most proud and unsatisfied husbands the world over. Why don’t you instead find a cozy, private moment between the sheets and ask your wife not about lawsuits or scandals, but if she’d like you to make love to her? Tell her you miss her more than you’d miss the beating heart torn from your chest, and nothing would bring you as much gratification as seeing to her pleasure.” “What if she says no?” “I didn’t say you should necessarily ask her with words—or expect her to see to your pleasure while you’re about it.” Deene’s brows shot up. He was off the couch in the next moment and heading for the door. “Thanks for the libation. My regards to Lady Louisa.” ***

Evie, will you stay with me?” He nearly whispered the question, so much did he dread the answer. His heart started a slow pounding in his chest when she did not immediately offer him reassurances. “Evie?” She drew back a little. “We will get through this race, Deene. Until that finish line is crossed, other obstacles are just going to have to wait, aren’t they?” He

Evie, will you stay with me? Maybe this was her answer; maybe she would make damned sure she conceived an heir for him, and their obligations to each other would be at an end. It was not fair, that she’d be so obstinate, that she’d make such demands on him, that his best efforts to keep all the promises he owed should come at such a cost. It was not fair to him; it was not fair to her. The solution Deene had envisioned, a gentleman’s agreement undertaken with ungentlemanly determination, began to waver before his eyes. Eve shifted, and then her mouth was gone, leaving a need to join with her that came from Deene’s very soul. When she would have mounted him—a novel boldness, coming from her—Deene rolled with her, so she was beneath him—so she could not get away. Before he was done loving her, her cries of pleasure were swallowed in his kisses, her fingernails scored his back and buttocks, and her tears wet his chest. And yet, he could not ask her again: Evie, will you stay with me? ***

I’ve married into a family of lunatics, and now the Denning line must strengthen this deplorable tendency. I’m not having any children, and what children I do have aren’t going to be given any ponies. They shall ride pigs, see if they don’t.” “Joseph.” Deene’s tone held banked humor. “You are excused. Find Louisa and try not to lose your composure entirely.” “Louisa awaits us on the rise, the better to plan my commitment to Bedlam as this race unfolds.

Listen to me, dearest, most precious wife, but pat the horse while you do, because Dolan is looking this way.” Eve thumped William soundly on the neck, as a male jockey might. “You will win this race not because we have money riding on the outcome. I assure you we can afford the loss, and we don’t honestly need the coin if we win. I promise you this. You will win this race not because it means we keep William—he’s already covered every mare I could possibly put him to. I promise you this as well.” He wasn’t finished. Eve gathered up her reins just as Goblin started to prop in earnest, and the stewards started motioning her closer to the starting line. “There is more I would say, my dear.” Deene reached over and stroked a hand down her shoulder, and Eve felt all manner of tension dissipating at just his touch. “You will win this race because it is yours to win, because this horse is yours to command. I have every faith in you, every faith. But if you don’t win, that hardly matters. I will love you for the rest of my days and beyond, because when I asked for your trust, you gave it to me.” Another

God help them.” Kesmore went on to swear viciously as Eve’s horse cleared the big oxer only to land in bad footing. Deene was already spurring Beast forward, when Dolan’s hand shot out and grabbed the reins. Deene brought his crop down hard on Dolan’s wrist and was prepared to use it on Kesmore’s restraining hand as well when Lady Louisa spoke. “You can’t do a thing to help, Deene. Not now.” ***

As Deene ushered Eve through the door, he caught the duchess giving him a look. When their gazes collided, she must have gotten something in her eye, because it appeared for all the world as if Her Grace had winked at him.

Damn and blast Lucas Denning for needling her, for that’s exactly what he’d done. Eve drew up sharply in the mews and dropped her escort’s arm. “Deene, where are your footmen, where is your driver?” “Probably enjoying a merry pint or two despite the hour of the day.” He started toward the landau while Eve resisted the urge to clobber him with her parasol. When he turned back to her a few paces away, he wore a smile that could only be described as taunting. “Eve Windham, I am competent to drive you the less than two hours it will take to get to The Downs. For that matter, you are competent to drive me as well. You know this team, they’re perfect gentlemen, and it’s a calm day. Get into the carriage.” The gleam in his blue eyes suggested he knew exactly what manner of challenge he’d just posed, both in referring to her driving skill and in ordering her into the carriage. She

The smile she gave the colt was dazzling, so purely beneficent Deene could not look away from the picture she made billing and cooing with the big chestnut horse. Willy was shamelessly flirting right back, batting his big, pretty eyes at her, wuffling into her palm, and wiggling his idiot lips in her hair. It wasn’t to be borne. “Would

Would you like to hack out with me, Eve?” The smile disappeared. “I’m not dressed appropriately. Thank you for the invitation, nonetheless.” He hadn’t expected her to accept, though he had wanted to hear her reply. He shifted closer to her in the stall, close enough that he could stretch out a hand to his horse and not be overheard by the lads. “I’d put you up on Willy here. He’s gentle as a lamb under saddle.” “You’d let me ride your prize racing stud?” The longing in her voice was palpable. “I don’t think he’s going to hear, see, or obey anybody else when you’re in the vicinity. Willy’s in love.” The blighted beast nickered deep in its chest as if in agreement. “What a charming fellow.” Eve’s bare hand scratched right behind Willy’s ear, and if he’d been a dog, the stallion’s back leg would have twitched with pleasure. What was wrong with a man when he wanted to tell his horse: She petted me first, so don’t get any ideas? “I’d love to see you on him, Lucas. I’ll bet he has marvelous paces.” Now the smile was aimed at Deene, and even the horse seemed to be looking at him beseechingly. “I cannot disappoint a guest. We’ll have some luncheon up at the house, and the lads can saddle him up.” As Deene escorted the lady from the loose box, Willy managed to look crestfallen before he went back to desultorily lipping at his hay. “Some