Regency Romance Quotes

He kissed her. Without warning, without permission. Without even deciding to do it, but simply because he couldn't have done anything else. He needed that breath she was holding. It belonged to him, and he wanted it back.

You may be a bit presumptuous, Miss Woodhart, and may lack certain habits of good etiquette. But in dancing, you exceed many—and in loveliness, I have known no equal.

Sometimes Hen...I think I would give my life just for one of your smiles.

Love will find a way against time itself.

To my unsuspecting love. When I look into your eyes, I lose all sense of time and place. Reason robbed, clear thought erased, I am lost in the paradise I find within your gaze. I long to touch your blushing cheek, to whisper in your ear how I adore you, how I have lost my heart to you, how I cannot bear the thought of living without you. To be so near to you without touching you is agony. Your blindness to my feelings is a daily torment, and I feel driven to the edge of madness by my love for you. Where is your compassion when I need it most? Open your eyes , Love, and see what is right before you: that I am not merely a friend, but a man deeply, desperately , in love with you. Longing for you.

A man is not what he possesses but what he does with himself.

Oh, yes, she's unusual!" he said bitterly. "She blurts out whatever may come into her head; she tumbles from one outrageous escapade into another; she's happier grooming horses and hobnobbing with stable-hands than going to parties; she's impertinent; you daren't catch her eye for fear she should start to giggle; she hasn't any accomplishments; I never saw anyone with less dignity; she's abominable, and damnably hot at hand, frank to a fault, and – a darling!

Not only did I manage to accidentally meet the man I’m investigating, I managed to accidentally have sex with him.

You are brave and loyal and true. You have such a good heart." He held my hand close to his chest and covered it with his other hand. "It is only afraid. But I would take such good care of it, love, if you would give it to me.

You don't feel you could marry me instead? Got no brains, of course, and I ain't a handsome fellow, like Jack, but I love you. Don't think I could ever love anyone else.

Dear Philip, I don't imagine you will ever read this. If you do, it is bacause something dreadful has happened to me. I find myself in the hands of a dangerous man. I am determined to fight him but before I do, my heart demands that I write this note to tell you that I love you. I am sending my heart to you in this letter so it will be kept safe from whatever may happen to me tonight. I don't know if you want it or not, but it has always been yours. With all my love, Marianne

...we'll have a duel in the morning on the moors. Plenty of fog. It will be quite dramatic, I daresay.

If I could,” he went on, “I would remain like this indefinitely—clasped by you, held inside you, a part of you—without moving at all. When we make love, I fight climax with everything I have. I don’t want to come; I do not want it to end. No matter how long I make it last, it isn’t nearly long enough. I am furious when I cannot hold back any longer. Why, Jess? If all I seek is the physical relief of natural lust, just as I would seek sleep or food, why would I deny myself?” She turned her head and caught his mouth with hers, kissing him desperately. “Tell me you understand,” he demanded, his lips moving beneath hers. “Tell me you feel it, too.” “I feel you,” she breathed, as intoxicated by his ardency as she was by the finest claret. “You have become everything to me.

You are my one and only, for all eternity.

He cupped my face in his hands. "Then listen to me, my blind, stubborn, darling friend. You stole my heart the night we met, when you sang that ridicuos song and dared me not to laugh. And every moment I have spent with you since then, you have stolen more and more of me until when you're not with me....." He drew in a breath. "When you are not with me, I am left with nothing but longing for you.

Except I was hoping someday to see you standing on a ship's deck in your shirtsleeves with a cutlass between your teeth." "Maybe it can be arranged

He'd missed matching wits with her. "Shall we duel with our lips?" "You may find yourself eating grass for breakfast.

I do, love. I want you more than you could ever know. More than I could have ever dreamed. I want you enough for two men. For ten.

If you have always suspected your sister of an inclination to madness, it will be my pleasure to confirm your worst fears.

Lord, if we were all to marry our first loves what a plague of ill-assorted marriages there would be!

Had he not been the keeper of the flame, of anguish, trapped under the brilliance of what she had been to him? He had been a man of permanence, how could he have swayed to emotion like this?

My Angel, goddess of my heart, you are beautiful.

I choose to believe that my father is still alive, that he has survived death, outlived us all, and possesses the soul that goes on and lives forever; We just cannot see him yet, for we have not caught up with him. our time will come just as his did. and no matter how woeful and lost I was when he passed away, I know I will be glad to go to a place where I can see him, and know he is okay and happy. It’s just not my time yet and there is no way of knowing if any of it is true." - Jane Adams

Miss Grantham ordered me to my room and told me no man would ever wish to marry me if I did not learn to behave like a lady. But Miss Grantham always behaves like a lady, and no man has ever wished to marry her, either, so if it really makes no difference in the end, I don’t see why I shouldn’t at least have fun!

Nothing said family more than shared soap.

People do understand the language of the heart, you know, even if the head does not always comprehend it.

I saw your intelligence, and I was intrigued. I saw your humor, and I was charmed. I saw your soul, and it was beautiful. I'm in love with you, Mary Bennet.

Ravenwood ran a hand through his wavy chestnut hair, upsetting the careful work of his valet. Or not. Given the popularity of the “frightened owl” hairstyle today, Amelia couldn’t fathom much effort being involved at all.

I followed the curious intensity behind those dark blue eyes and the moment his eyes changed. Suddenly, my world felt terribly small, like I’d experienced merely a handful of what it had to offer.

Yet, after all, Jenny thought she had been granted more than she hoped for when she married him. He did love her: differently, but perhaps more enduringly; and he had grown to depend on her. She thought that they would have many years of quiet content: never reaching the heights, but living together in comfort and deepening friendship.

The night was bright. He was seen. And she was everything.

It did not occur to him that anything would go wrong until it positively had gone wrong.

Good night, my lord.” The words were pronounced in her most withering tone. By contrast, he remained quite alarmingly unwithered long after she left.

Te amo, Querida," he whispered, stroking her hair. "Tu eres mi luz en la oscuridad." I love you. You are my light in the darkness.

Even without the Grand Reclaimer bond, Helen, you are my heartbeat. My pulse. You are the fire in my blood and the laughter in my soul.

But looking at Jane, and looking at you, I find I am simply tired of being angry. It is exhausting work, hating you, Mr Darcy.

He clutched her to him with a desperate strength that almost hurt. "I will love you for your light, if you can love me through the dark times. And that love will be like the clear night sky when the moon is full. Not like the sun....but beautiful and bright enough to find our way.

Would you - would you like to marry me, Kitty?' Lord Radcliffe - James - asked, voice like gravel. She gave a helpless little laugh at the absurdity of the question - as if he did not know. 'I would,' she said. 'But first, I feel I must inform you that I come with four sisters, a badly leaking roof, and a veritable ocean of debt.' He had started to smile now, and once begun it did not seem to stop, overtaking his whole face. “I thank you for your honesty,’ he said cordially, and she laughed. ‘May I reassure you that I am desperate to meet your other sisters, the roof sounds charmingly rustic, and the debt does not faze me.’ He paused. ‘Of course, I understand that you will need to see my accounts before committing yourself,’ he went on, and she laughed again, loud and bright. ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary,’ she said. ‘As long as you can promise you’re absurdly rich and you’ll pay off all my family’s debts.’ ‘I am absurdly rich,’ he repeated. ‘And I will pay off all your family’s debts.’ ‘Why then by all means,’ she said, grinning up at him, ‘I would indeed like to marry you.

Oh, how glorious it must be, to care nothing for society’s censure, but how terrible it must be, to care for nothing at all.

Now he knew there was so much more to her story and damn if he didn't want to read the whole book.

Forgiveness was such a tricky business. One could forgive with all sincerity one moment and then be overcome by feelings of anger and ill-use the next.

Julia stood for his youth, and the high hopes he had cherished; and although he might no longer yearn to possess her she would remain nostalgically dear to him while life endured.

I've never met anyone as kind as you are, except me Mum, o' course." --Benjamin Trimmel to Lady Alexandra.

He wanted her. He wanted her body in his bed and her defiant spirit in his estates.

But it did matter. Because as much as he tried to deny it, the truth was simple. He had fallen in love with her. Idiot.

Gossip never has to be true. It only has to be interesting.

Life was a gamble. One never knew what tomorrow would bring. That shouldn't make her afraid to live though.

One’s belief cannot be allowed to suffocate under the tyranny of small minds, for hope itself does not hinge on the faith of the masses, rather the singular soul. And I hope most ardently.

No, I'm not smart," he whispered against her ear, "but I was wise enough to fall in love with you and clever enough to convince you to marry me. I hope I'm not so stupid that I would ever let you go.

Those piercingly beautiful blue eyes were looking down at him, stupefying him as they met his own, evoking images of sapphire jewels and a starry sky and… Good Lord, was her hair truly the shade of moonbeams?

The ladies, I daresay, will have already selected silk gowns and appropriate jewels," the countess droned on, "and are quite capable of comporting themselves in line with both propriety and fashion.” “I don’t care about fashion,” Lord Sheffield murmured into Amelia’s ear, “but I’m sorely disappointed whenever a lady I escort decides to comport herself with propriety.

There’s a Lady Amelia Pembroke here to see you, my lord. She was most insistent.” Benedict glanced up from his desk. “I trust you informed her that I was not receiving, and refused to let her in?” “Of course.” The butler hesitated before continuing, “She said she would simply wait until you are receiving.” Benedict put down his pen. “Wait where, pray?” “Upon the front step, my lord. I’m afraid the lady brought... the lady brought... a book. She cannot be budged.

But above all, above respect and esteem, there was a motive within her of good will which could not be overlooked. It was gratitude. -- Gratitude, not merely for having once loved her, but for loving her still well enough, to forgive all the petulance and acrimony of her manner in rejecting him, and all the unjust accusations accompanying her rejection. He who, she had been persuaded, would avoid her as his greatest enemy, seemed, on this accidental meeting, most eager to preserve the acquaintance, and without any indelicate display of regard, or any peculiarity of manner, where their two selves only were concerned, was soliciting the good opinion of her friends, and bent on making her known to his sister.

He took her face between his hands, turning it up, and looking down at her for a moment before he kissed her. "I do love you, Jenny," he said gently. "Very much indeed-- you are part of my life. Julia was never that-only a boy's impractical dream.

Live always with the wind against your cheeks and buds of gorse tucked into your hair. Live always, and never forget where you belong.

I’ve a trunk full of books. The porters will despise me, but I'll be the most prepared Englishwoman ever to set foot on Egyptian sand.

He is like Shakespeare, if Shakespeare had gone mad and vowed to speak in only the most convoluted terms meant to confound his listeners.

Her soul felt at rest, for now she knew the true power of love, the unbending strength of loyalty, and the eternal beauty of forgiveness. (page 338)

We must go to the laboratory at once. I have some cannabis.

Deny it to yourself, but never to me.

She thought that Fontley had suffered as much from a negligent mistress as from an improvident master.

One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life. That word is love." (Sophocles) by Adam Harford, Duke of Harford, from the last page of "Sophie's Salvation

The gentleman had been an uncommonly affable fellow, but every time he counted to twenty (and he seemed to do so with strange frequency), he skipped the number twelve.

This was the kind of kiss you remembered when you were a very old lady with a very poor memory.

No, my dear. I think women are more intelligent. But we should be wise enough not to show it and definitely not to voice it. At least, until after marriage.

I recall how I suspected at the time that my young friend was indulging in her first bout of calf love.

What do you say to furthering our cousinly relationship by a drive in the Park this afternoon?

They locked gazes in that moment, the mother and the rake. Neither doubted that a battle had been joined

Let me give you one piece of advice. Do not get between a woman and her cause.

The girl who was in love with you is gone. And the man she was in love with never existed.

If I had heard Mama exclaim 'But he danced with her twice!' one more time, I might have committed matricide.

And she hated him. The look she had given him—cold, hard, and utterly dismissive— had struck deeper than a facer from Gentleman Jackson himself.

It was Monday, the twenty-third of December, and the Bennet sisters were preparing for war—or rather for the Opera, which in London society amounted to much the same thing.

Mrs Gardiner followed his gaze and smiled. "She is special, my niece. She requires a partner who understands that her spirit is not to be tamed, but to be matched.

Good." Mr Bennet sat back down. "Now, go away. I suspect my wife is currently trying to measure your cousin for wedding clothes.

And you are touching her without permission. Remove your hand, sir. Before I remove it for you. From you, entirely.

She looked at Elizabeth again. This time, the look wasn't dismissive. It was assessing. It was the look of a stable master inspecting new horseflesh.

It was, of course, a great failure in a woman's life - to never have achieved even a doomed and unsuccessful love. But she was not quite sure whether she had failed or not. When she was young there had been moments, of course. But those moments had never amounted to much more than a little fever of admiration - a little flutter and agitation in a ballroom - so slight a feeling that the cautious Dido had never considered it a secure foundation for a lifetime of living together. And then, sooner or later, she had always made and odd remark, or laughed at the wrong moment, and the young men became alarmed or angry - and the flutter and the agitation all turned to irritation. Dido could laugh and gossip about love as well as any woman but, deep down, she suspected that she had not the knack of falling into it.

It is a shame people aren't permitted to pursue those things that would fulfill and appeal to them, especially when what they long for isn't truly inappropriate, nor is it hurtful to anyone.

Hetty shivered. Goodness, he had no business looking at her like that. Physician my eye! Physicians definitely didn't look like him; they were short, round and adorned with wigs and spectacles.

When he was pleased he looked what nature had intended him to be: a placid man with a kindly, easy-going disposition; but when harassed his expression changed to one of peevishness, a frown dragging his brows together, and a pronounced pout giving him very much the look of a thwarted baby.

He tasted like Edmund, smelled like Edmund, felt like second chances. He kissed her as if she were as indispensable as air. As though his every heartbeat belonged as much to her as it did to him.

He then, with great presence of mind, put a stop to any further recriminations by kissing her; and his indignant betrothed, apparently feeling that he was too deeply sunk in depravity to be reclaimable, abandoned (for the time being, at all events) any further attempt to bring him to a sense of his iniquity.

I can't help wanting. I want you to burn as I burn. I want you to lie awake at night thinking of me. If you sleep, I want you to dream of me. I want you to tell me that you can't stand the sight of me dancing with another woman. I want to know this last week has been as miserable for you as it has been for me.

You are not by any manner of means the sort of woman I am in search of as a wife, and I am in a totally different universe from the husband you hope to find. But I feel a powerful urge to kiss you, for all that.

His hopes for a brawl faded as he neared Mayfair without any sign of a footpad or even an obliging cutthroat. Good God, what had London come to when a single gentleman remained unmolested on the streets at night?

That’s not a catalog!” Amelia's brother set aside his empty glass and plate to peer across the maplewood table. “Why the devil are you reading Debrett’s Peerage?” “It most certainly is a catalog," she replied, "and the most expedient one at my disposal. I’ve decided to take a husband. His name must be within these pages.

Who said the soirée needs to take place in the same old ballroom?" Amelia arched a brow. "All we need is a new venue.” “We?” Ravenwood reared back, horrified. “Not you, dear brother. Viscount Sheffield and I.” “Does the poor flat even know who you are?” Ravenwood burst out. Her smile turned calculating. “He’s about to.

A castle sat in the background, turrets flying a minuscule emblem in the foreground sat a lady, her skirts adorned with picked blossoms "A castle," Helena murmured, "fit for a princess, except that the prince has escaped.

Papa had always told Justine that guns had a remarkable capacity to focus the mind. She couldn’t say with any confidence that her actions had cleared the minds of the drunken louts before her, but she’d sharpened their attention. They gaped at her, slack-mouth and stupefied, trying to make sense of what their bleary eyes told them.

We always have to go backward to move forward. Whether it’s to face our own missteps or reach the end of our lives with a final mistake... We always have to go back to pull ourselves out of ignorance or cast ourselves deeper into revenge.

He stroked the leather binding with his thumb, a look of profound, hazy longing softening his usually severe features. He looked less like the Master of Pemberley and more like a man who had been hit over the head with a very heavy realization.

I don't know what you want from me then,' she cried, casting out her arms. 'For I cannot make my situation any different. I must marry. And so far, I have no promises.' He would not look at her. 'Ask me then,' she said, voice raw, 'ask me if I should like, if I should want to marry Pemberton, were the choice only about me?' He looked up. 'Would you?' 'No,' she said, voice cracking. 'Now ask me, whether I should still love you, were the choice only mine to make?' He took a step forward. 'Would you?' he said again. 'Yes,' she confessed. 'I will always choose my sisters. I will choose their need more than my want every day. But I want you just as much as I need money. You see me, in my entirety - the worst and the best of me - as no one else ever has.

It was this impulsive utterance which made Mrs Chartley say, later: ‘My dear John, I marvel at your countenancing this most improper dance! When they went down the room together, with his left hand holding her right one above their heads, his right hand was clasping her waist!

Te amo, Querida," he whispered suddenly, stroking her hair. "Tu eres mi luz en la oscuridad." "This is the second time you've said that," Cassandra murmured. "What does it mean?" "I love you." His voice was as rough as his hand on her cheek was gentle. "You are my light in the darkness.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Anthony turned to look at her. It was difficult for him to discern her expression with the mask she was wearing, but he could see her eyes, and there was something so honest, yet desperate, hidden there that he found it impossible to look away. She was mesmerizing, and whatever reason she had for being there, he knew that it was vitally important to her, that attending the ball was not without risk.

Have you ever seen Russian nesting dolls?” Thrown by the questions, she opened her eyes. Why would he suddenly speak about a child’s toy? “I own a few of them.” “Then you must understand that undressing you is like playing with one of those dolls. I open one to find another beneath it. I took away your gown to find you are still as clothed as you were a moment ago and I wonder how many more layers I will have to work through to get down to you—the doll I’m searching for.

You intrigue me,” he said, for it was the truth. “And yet I’ve just told you that I have a fiancé.” “An almost fiancé, I believe you said.” The spark in her eyes dwindled. “Nevertheless—I will marry him. This . . .…” She swept her arm in a wide circle to indicate their extravagant surroundings. “It cannot possibly last.

You are too romantic! We have been dwelling in Arcadia my green girl: the rest of the world is not so golden as this retired spot. Only in fantasy does every circumstance conspire to make it inevitable that two people should fall in love! We should hardly have been more isolated had be been cast on a desert island together.

We should go,” he said gruffly, his face inscrutable. “Why?” Her heartbeat thundered. She gripped his arms tight to keep herself from twining her own about his neck. He lowered his mouth to her ear, brushing it with a feather-soft kiss. “It isn’t safe.” Her answering shiver had nothing to do with the cold. She had never stood so close to any man, had never fought the urge to press herself even closer. “What could happen?” she whispered. He cupped her face in his hands. “Anything.

In her twenties she developed a deep affection for romance, especially enjoying the works of Nora Roberts, Mary Balogh and, most recently, Rose Gordon, Courtney Milan, Lauren Royal, Danelle Harmon, and Diane Farr. You can thank those authors for leading a sci-fi tomboy into writing historical romances set in the Regency period.

Elizabeth met his gaze head-on. She channelled every ounce of her anger into that look. She thought of Bingley's abandonment. Jane's tears. His haughty dismissal of her beauty. She narrowed her eyes, communicating a message that clearly said: I loathe you, and if I could set you on fire with my mind, you would currently be ash.

It was not the time to recall all those really horrifying nursery stories she'd read, Bluebeard, Babes in the Wood, Little Red Riding Hood. Why is it that children's stories are so filled with monsters like wolves and witches who eat children, and men who kill their wives? And to think, that people actually sat and told their children such things.

folded laundry from the sofa so Jack and

We women must look out for one another,' Lady Danbury said to no one in particular, 'since it is clear no one else will do so.

Every inch the terrible uncloaked fairy, at last.

It felt odd to have Regina laundering his clothes. 'Oh. If you’d rather clean them yourself . . .' No, that didn’t sound right, either.

In his letter, he’d written three different words. 'You’re not alone.' They swirled inside her head, solid and deep and resonant in a way that ethereal 'I love you' could never be.

A veces el corazón quiere cosas que no puede expresar del todo, y perseguimos innatamente lo que creemos que va a satisfacer ese deseo implícito.

You may not be the one standing out from a crowd, but you are the one that makes sure everyone in that crowd is still standing.

As she hurried through the crowd, she realized one thing – she still didn’t even know his name.

She wants what we all want . . . She wants someone to see her. Someone to witness her life and know that she’s…significant.

You, sir, have the mind of a scientist. But, I think, the heart of a poet.

Well you displayed so little anxiety about my being murdered," he said to her hotly, pride very much injured, "that I have a great mind not to tell you whether I was or not.

She gave him her warmth, her affection, every tender thought and emotion of her soul. She spoke everything she felt for him without words.

I sincerely pity the poor man you marry. I doubt he’ll have a moment’s peace.

There shall be no need to pretend. You shall be replaced. Indeed, I will erase you. Quite easily, I assure you. --Ivy Kinley

A heart worth collecting just might be a heart worth keeping.

Ho giurato a me stesso di baciarla per ogni giorno in cui non ho potuto farlo. © #IlPattoDelMarchese‬ - Giovanna Roma ‪#Regency‬ #LordRussell

I didn’t make my face, so why shouldn’t I say it’s beautiful? Everyone else does!

It was if the devil himself had devised the perfect earthly torture for Lady Alicia Lawrence. “Now how will I occupy myself when I get to hell?

Levity was ever your besetting sin,’ he said severely. ‘Let me tell you that it is not at all becoming in a female! It leads you into talking a deal of improper nonsense.

Il busto è sollevato dalle forti braccia, ma dal bacino in giù è completamente abbandonato su di me. «Sei mia e di nessun altro.» © #IlPattoDelMarchese‬ - Giovanna Roma

He didn’t want to see inside Lily’s heart; he didn’t want to know her beauty was the least remarkable thing about her.

This is your home,’ he said. ‘You are mistress of Finchley Park, Vanessa. You may do whatever you wish.’ Her smile broadened. ‘Within reason,’ he added hastily.

Should I rejoice in the inferiority of my fate?" - John Lockwood

There was no need to analyze the feelings that the people caught in the commission of the amorous act, held for each other, for it was literally written in their hands.

Cupid had struck his heart to the core but had forgotten to put even a mere scratch on his beloved's.

I only hope I may not be ruined,” she was saying miserably. “I should be obliged to marry you after all, and then I’d likely murder you before the wedding breakfast was over.

She narrowed her gaze. “I don’t trust you to keep your eyes closed.” “Smart woman,” he said. “I wouldn’t trust me, either, if I were you.

Keep your hands off me.” She spoke viciously, through her teeth, and he caught a glimpse of her deVere ancestry. She was a virago in tiny, fragile, fairy form.

Please don’t say you’re sorry, False platitudes of sorrow, of pity, of goddamned praise of being a hero, sicken me.

No, but on the other hand you don't enact me Cheltenham tragedies when I've barely swallowed my breakfast.

Does this feel like pity to you, Alex? I assure you a great many emotions for you fill me, but pity is not one of them.

I am still not used to being the possessor of such a grand title. I believe I shall have to start wearing a purple satin turban and carrying a lorgnette.

He stole her first kiss. And then he stole her heart.

I may be dead inside, but I'm more than alive enough for you." He gripped her chin and covered her mouth with his.

You’ve never been in a scrape yet but what it came about by accident. The thing is, no one else has these accidents.

I need to go hunting now," he rasped. Before I tear off your clothes and plunge my c*** and my fangs inside you.

I wonder what it was really like back then. We think it’s all fun and flirting, but there was probably a lot of ugly reality.” “Like the dancing.

Where do you prefer to sit, Sir?" (Lady Alexandra to William, the Duke, during her mail-order bride interview.)

It was William who would climb out of his carriage unafraid and help a farmer drive a herd of cattle or sheep across a road when necessary.

He opened his eyes again and stared into her soul. "Then I'll tell you the truth." "Which is?" Her hand was shaking. "I did it because I want you.

I love stepping back in time

The moment John entered Viscount Gage's study, he was greeted with a punch to his face.

Do you mean an actual conversation, or one where I talk and you avoid my questions, concerns, and doubts? Because we've already had that.

She was no longer fearful for her future or that of her sister's. He was heaven-sent.

Love? Was that what it was? Willingly forgiving another? Accepting them as they were? While also wanting to kiss them until you were both breathless?

What fools men were to look only for diamonds when a precious pearl stood right before them.

I'd rather a man prove his worth with deeds, not words.

He tasted like every wicked thought she’d ever had, only better.

-El verde es el color de la envidia -le recordó-. ¿Quieres que el resto de las damas me tengan envidia? -No. Quiero que los hombres me la tengan a mí.

Nada es personal en estos bailes, ¿verdad? Y, en el fondo, todo lo es.

It is the tyranny of the weak, isn’t it? The weapons being tears, reproaches, vapours, and other such unscrupulous means which are employed by gentle, helpless women like your aunt!

What shall we say when people ask us how we met?” The corners of her mouth twitched. “We’ll say I was in my nightrail, brushing my hair in peaceful solitude, when you climbed up to my balcony and—” “Do you even have a balcony?” She pursed her lips. “You’re not invited upon it, regardless.” He gave her a slow, naughty smile. “No one’s ever *invited* to scale a balcony.

Linnet’s thudding heart raced blood through her veins, sending a flush of embarrassing heat to her face. She had been avoiding him, but she could never tell him why. It took all her discipline not to quail under Sir Anthony’s penetrating gaze. Blast the man. She’d lost count of the times he’d made her feel like a blushing maiden. Strictly speaking, she was still a maiden, but she’d given up blushing years ago—along with simpering, flirting, and so many other talents deemed useful to unmarried women. Except, of course, in Sir Anthony’s august presence.

The coals seem to glow with such life, but she knew it was all an illusion.The embers were nothing but the last breath of death. I am like this fire, she thought.I look alive but inside I feel dead.

I have never paid for fornication, and I don't intend to begin with you. When you come to me, and come to me you shall, you shall do so of your own accord and wholly free of all commerce and custom.

Maddie squirmed out from under him. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I know this is supposed to be physical. Impersonal. It’s only that I keep thinking of lobsters.” He flipped onto his back and lay there, blinking up at the ceiling. “Until just now, I would have said there was nothing remaining that could surprise me in bed. I was wrong.” She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest. “I am the girl who made up a Scottish lover, wrote him scores of letters, and kept up an elaborate ruse for years. Does it really surprise you that I’m odd?” “Maybe not.” “Lobsters court for months before mating. Before the male can mate with her, the female has to feel secure enough to molt out of her shell. If a spiny sea creature is worth months of effort, can’t I have just a bit more time? I don’t understand the urgency.

Metaphorically speaking: While unfortunate, corruption, and evil will always exist in our story, driven by the force of greed, power, hate, and ignorance. Don't stop at the end of the chapter because love, kindness, faith, and cliques— still abound— all around us if we only continue to read. We must always believe that good will triumph over bad for a five-star review by the end of our book. -Lisa Higgins

He cranes his head lower, brushing his bottom lip against mine, ‘The amount of time I spend thinking about kissing you is sinful. Every morning. Every night. Every goddamn moment I am behind that canvas.

You should know that Rafael is not the beast he would have you believe he is. He may be harsh, but he is fair. However, I highly recommend that you endeavor to be on his good side." She raised a brow. "Does he have one?

You forget yourself, your lordship. You have no rights to allow or disallow anything I may choose to do. You have, in fact, no claim over me whatsoever – a circumstance for which I thank the Lord on a daily basis! I am neither your ward nor your dependent, and I will not allow you to talk to me in that odiously overbearing fashion. You are the most obnoxious and conceited man alive, and I cannot wait to be gone from England and from you!

I am not interested in you or in your servant!' snapped Miss Taverner. 'That is what I like in you,' he agreed, and sprang lightly up into the curricle, and stepped across her to the box-seat. 'Now let me show you how to hit me.

Do what feels natural. Forget what you have been taught, or trained, or hell, been told. If you want to touch me, do so. If you want to explore your body,” his gaze followed the line of her body, “by all means please touch yourself.

At one time nothing mattered more than having a beautiful wife, amassing possessions, and claiming power. Now, his heart--his soul--longed for things not so tangible. Safety. Security. Happiness. Justice. Hope. Forgiveness. (page 64)

Every morning," he said softly, his breath caressing her cheek. "You were my only thought." He tilted closer. "Every night, you were my only thought." His lips brushed her cheekbone. "Every moment of every day, you were my only thought.

You know," she said, carefully. "I think Stanhope deserved what he got." Isabel grimaced uncomfortably. "To be humiliated so publicly. I don't know. I never wished him ill." "You didn't have to," Sam said smugly. "You have a sister for that.

He’d almost redoubled his efforts to charm her. Prepared a wink and a smile and a glib response but stopped. Every time he tried to charm her, she stiffened, so he’d given her the truth instead. 'I’ve nowhere else to be.' Surprisingly, it had worked.

A gentleman can’t let a lady sleep in an armchair while he takes his ease in a bed.” “But you are not a gentleman,” she pointed out. “You are the greatest scoundrel in all the land.” He tilted his head to consider that. “All right. You take the chair.

The thought of his high and imposing father’s regal progress to Harrowgate, and his very brief stay there, made Desford begin to chuckle again. He must remember, he told himself, to ask Poor Dear Papa, at a suitable moment, for his opinion of Harrowgate.

From the second Edmund burst into the ceremony, she'd no longer wanted to be a duchess. She just wanted Edmund. Seeing his face had been like being flooded with magic. He was sunshine and sultry nights. Laughter and sensuous kisses. The other half of her heart.

If you will thank me, let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you.

Their encounter confirmed what he had been unwilling to admit. Charlotte didn’t taste, smell, or feel like any other woman he had ever known. She wasn’t like any other woman and never would be. And he would never be satisfied with another woman now that he’d touched her. Sebastian

The night they’d made love, Eleanor had given him everything. She’d placed her body and her pleasure in his hands, yes, but she’d given him her trust, too. He’d felt it in every sigh, every gasp, every kiss, and it had devastated him. Humbled him. It was the sweetest pleasure he’d ever known.

Well,' Frederick had said, 'I will see what can be arranged, Archie. But I will not have the girl frightened or compromised.' 'You sound like a grandfather who has raised fifteen daughters and is now starting on his granddaughters, Freddie,' Lord Archibald had said. 'It is most disconcerting.

He knew he could worm his way beneath her defenses—he’d read every word of those diaries. He knew the one absolute way to fulfill her every dream. The problem was, could he do that to her? He didn’t have to. He could turn about this moment and ride away. Yet that would mean leaving her forever.

Aden St. George managed to avoid having to kill the guard stationed outside his quarry’s crypt-like cell, although the thug outside the caves hadn’t been so lucky. Still, that bastard had tried to knife him in the gut so Aden could hardly be faulted for returning the favor. And knowing what he did about the men who’d kidnapped Lady Vivien Shaw, he wouldn’t waste his fitful conscience on that brutal but necessary act. Killing was not a favorite pastime, but only rarely did it disturb his sleep. Tonight’s rescue mission carried no inconvenient opportunities for remorse since a woman’s life and innocence hung in the balance. True, the gossips whispered that Lady Vivien’s innocence was an open question, but what would happen to her if Aden failed wasn’t. Without his intervention she would disappear into a nightmarish life, forever beyond the protection of her family and friends.

He shut the door, and stood looking across the room at her. 'Cressy, what did you mean when you told that harridan that your affections were engaged?' The colour deepened a little in her cheeks, but she replied lightly: 'Well, she talked so much like someone in a bad play that I became carried away myself! Besides, I had to say something to convince her! I could see she didn't quite believe me when I said I wasn't going to marry your brother.' He let his breath go in a long sigh, and walked forward, setting his hands on her shoulders, and saying: 'You don't know how much I have wanted to tell you the truth! Cressy, my dear one, forgive me! I've treated you abominably, and I love you so much!' Miss Stavely, who had developed an interest in the top button of his coat, looked shyly up at this. 'Do you, Kit?' she asked. 'Truly?' Mr Fancot, preferring actions to words, said nothing whatsoever in answer to this, but took her in his arms and kissed her. Miss Stavely, who had previously thought him unfailingly gentle and courteous, perceived, in the light of this novel experience, that she had been mistaken: there was nothing gentle about Mr Fancot's crushing embrace; and his behaviour in paying no heed at all to her faint protest could only be described as extremely uncivil. She was wholly unused to such treatment, and she had a strong suspicion that her grandmother would condemn her conduct in submitting to it, but as Mr Fancot seemed to be dead to all sense and propriety it was clearly useless to argue with him.

His lips burned as they touched her own. She gave a little gasp under his mouth before being completely smothered by his fire. He wanted her, she understood in amazement. And it was not the fact that she was capable of attracting a man which surprised her—for she well knew her own value—but that it was this particular man, who had already filled her with a tempestuous rage, was now capable of making her feel quite another way. Of unlocking her with his lips, making her feel like a quivering flame within a frail woman's body, smoldering with a burning desire she had not even known she was capable of possessing.

Diane Gonclaves DeLuna and her mother, Mary for whom my heroine is named for. Diane and I met on Facebook, but we soon learned we have one thing (besides romance novels) in common. Her mother suffers from Alzheimer’s and min suffered from Dementia. Both of us wish we only had the love of romances in common.   Jane

One could easily mistake that softness for weakness, particularly when coupled with her shyness and blushes. He had done so. He’d thought she required guidance, polishing, perfecting. But she hadn’t. She didn’t. James could see that now. Just as he’d seen evidence of her strength, her confidence, her conscience. Qualities that were as striking as her beauty.

Sophia closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. And woke that morning with a start when she realized she’d dreamt not at all of a glamorous turn at Almack’s on the arm of the Marquess of Withington. No. It had been Thomas Hope who’d taken captive her dream, whispering into her ear all the things he wanted to show her. All the things he had yet to make her feel.

Life is, you know, but an idea. You can fill it up with anything really and deceive yourself into believing that is what you need. You can be happy, sad, benevolent, crafty, unpleasant. That man filled it up with nastiness and it destroyed him in the end. I wonder what could have made him that way. Cruelty on the part of others or cruelty in his heart?" - Lady Cavendish

Lydia is enduring the same fate, I may remind you." Vincent remarked. "And she is doubtless freezing, being forced to stand there in only her chemise." A rakish smile spread across his features. "Perhaps we could go down and have a peek." Rafe scowled. "I don't want you looking at my woman." Vincent folded his arms and glared. "Well, I don't want you looking at my woman!

One of a guardian's privileges is to be seen talking to his ward without occasioning remark,' he said. 'I can assure you he has not many.' She set her hand on the stair-rail, preparing to follow Lady Jersey. She looked a little arch. 'Is your position as my guardian so painful, sir?' 'It is a damnable position,' he said deliberately, and turned away, leaving her staring.

Charlotte Sutherland was dancing with Cam’s cousin, Julian West. Handsome, charming, irresistible Julian. Damn shame he was such a rake. With every turn of the dance Julian drew closer to the open French doors leading onto the terrace and the dark garden beyond, his quarry caught in his arms. Such a scenario was a bit worrying for the young lady. Someone could get hurt. Or ruined.

In the land of historical romance novels, particularly the Regencies, there is no line more quoted than this: Reformed rakes make the best husbands. It's the sort of pithy one-liner a beloved character dashes off and everyone laughs a sparkling laugh, the heroine knits her brow, and the rogue in question scowls but we all know the truth: That bad boy will soon be reformed. And he will like it.

The only thing he was sorry for was slamming the door and perhaps raising his voice to the woman who'd been like a mother to him since the passing of his parents. Perhaps she hadn't really deserved his reaction, but he was, justifiably, weary of their meddling and hearing about his father's will. Apparently no suitable maiden was going to appear on his doorstep. He seemed to be looking for a needle in a haystack.

Eleanor bit her lip. Camden West appeared remarkably…sturdy. His shoulders were half the length of the mantle, for pity’s sake, and he wasn’t thin or gangly like so many men of such imposing height. Perhaps he padded his coats? Yes, that must be it. The chest and the arms, anyway. Eleanor’s gaze dropped to his tight, buff-colored breeches. He must pad those, as well. Her face heated. My. That was a great deal of padding.

He was gleamingly, smolderingly beautiful, like a pure medieval knight or a young King Arthur stepping off the pages of a painting. Though it was always Lancelot who was shown with fair hair like Linden's, those long strands of dark gold and amber softening the hard planes of his warrior-strong face. Did Lancelot have a mouth like Linden's? Full and strong and sensual? Suggesting unspeakable delights if one could only unlock the man who possessed it? Was it a mouth like this which undid Guinevere?

Literature is the extant body of written art. All novels belong to it. The value judgement concealed in distinguishing one novel as literature and another as genre vanishes with the distinction. Every readable novel can give true pleasure. Every novel read by choice is read because it gives true pleasure. Literature consists of many genres, including mystery, science fiction, fantasy, naturalism, realism, magical realism, graphic, erotic, experimental, psychological, social, political, historical, bildungsroman, romance, western, army life, young adult, thriller, etc., etc…. and the proliferating cross-species and subgenres such as erotic Regency, noir police procedural, or historical thriller with zombies. Some of these categories are descriptive, some are maintained largely as marketing devices. Some are old, some new, some ephemeral. Genres exist, forms and types and kinds of fiction exist and need to be understood: but no genre is inherently, categorically superior or inferior. (Hypothesis on Literature vs. Genre)

Rhys cleared his throat and tugged on his cravat. “I wanted to ask you something.” “Yes?” St. Clare livened up immediately as he took a sip of whisky. “Do you treat your wife like your mistress?” St. Clare raised a brow. Any other man would be sputtering his drink out of his mouth in surprise at the question. Not St. Clare. “No, I treat my wife a lot better than I have ever treated any of my mistresses.” “That’s not exactly what I mean….” Rhys cleared his throat again. “Then what do you mean?” Rhys scratched his temple. “I mean in bed.” “Oh…” Gabriel scowled. “I do not think I follow.” “Well, I mean… All the depraved things you did with your mistresses, do you do them to your wife?” Gabriel raised his brow. “If by depraved, you mean whether I pleasure my wife in every way I have learned how then yes. And she does the same for me.” “You let her—” “I let her do anything she wants to do to me and then teach her to do even more,” he added with a wink. Rhys tugged on his cravat again in agitation. “What I mean is… I’ve heard time and time again that ladies are delicate creatures who cannot withstand arduous pursuits… There are things that are indecent—” “Let me stop you right there, my dear, virtuous friend. What you think is indecent, I do to my wife every morning before breakfast. And what you call degrading or embarrassing, I call Tuesday.” He finished his drink and slammed the glass onto the desk. “There is no such thing as indecent between a husband and a wife. The only thing indecent is a cold marriage bed. Take it from a former rake.

He turned to face her and studied her as if he could see right through her. “None of them are worthy of you.” A wave of longing coursed through her. “Then who am I to marry?” When he failed to answer, she turned away and fiddled with the flowers on the desk. “Without the advantage of wealth or status, I’m not exactly overrun with prospects like you are.” “Perhaps not,” he said softly, “but at least you can be certain the man who marries you did so for love and not because of your wealth or title.” Charlotte & Sebastian

Guinevere’s lips started to tingle in expectation, and her heart beat at a dizzying, knee-weakening rate. She had to set her hands to his muscular shoulders so as not to drop into an embarrassing puddle of desire. “Is that an invitation?” he asked, sounding every bit as devilish as he looked. If ever a man could lead a woman to be improper, it was him. She couldn’t speak, her thoughts spun so quickly, but her fingers curled in silent entreaty, and the sensation in her lips moved slowly down to the pit of her stomach. She was going to expire if he didn’t kiss her.

Thirty-nine-year-old moderately successful Human Resources Director. Interests include regency romances, reality TV, and baking large novelty birthday cakes for other people’s children. Hobbies include drinking Tia Maria and eating Turkish delight in the bath and dining out with her mum and dad. Wanted to be a ballerina but didn’t end up with a ballerina body; however, has been told she is an impressive dirty dancer when drunk. Knows her wine, so please just hand the wine list over. Godmother to nine children, member of two book clubs, Social Club Manager for the Australian Payroll Officers’ Association. Suffers from a severe blushing problem but is not shy and will probably end up better friends with your friends than you, which you’ll find highly irritating after we break up. Has recently become so worried about meeting the love of her life and having children before she reaches menopause that she has cried piteously in the middle of the night. But otherwise is generally quite cheerful and has on at least three separate occasions that she knows of been described as ‘Charming’. Yep, that about summed it up. What a catch.

Charlotte raised her eyebrows. “Have you spent any time with her this week?” “I’m afraid she’s too…perfectish.” She stopped and turned toward him. “Perfectish?” He lowered his head and gazed into her eyes. “Yes, perfectish. It’s a clear indication that some horrible fault will come to the surface the moment you’ve irrevocably declared your intentions.” She allowed one corner of her mouth to curve upward. “Well, then. I guess it’s a good thing I could never be considered perfectish.” His eyes darkened as he leaned closer. “No, you are certainly not too perfectish.” Sebastian & Charlotte

She turned to him with wide, shocked eyes. "Why did he..." His lips twitched. No coarse language in front of the infants limited the ability to discuss the fountain of baby piss that had just arced halfway across the room. "Twasn't you, darling. It's one of their favorite bath-time games. "Something about the cool air on their naked...berries," he substituted at the last second.... "Do I have piddle in my hair?" she whispered, her eyes sparkling with laughter above her flushed cheeks. "Not much," he assured her with a straight face. "You look almost becoming."... "Decades from now, when our children ask how I fell in love with their mother, I'll say 'twas her sweet, gentle compliments during bath-time, and her fleetness of foot whilst dodging a flow of ---

Laurel stood on stage. She was very still. Her lovely blue eyes were lowered modestly. Her silver blonde hair fell in disheveled curls around her face, white roses and strands of pearls woven artfully throughout. A necklace of what looked like diamonds clasped her slender throat while white kid gloves were drawn up to her elbow. She held a fan of frosted silver in one hand, dangling at her side. Her dress was a shimmering sapphire blue, and it fit her exquisitely, molding to her form, hugging her small bosom and lifting her breasts until they appeared ready to spill from the satin bodice. A silver braided sash cinched her waist, emphasizing its narrowness. And then, she lifted her head, raised the hand that held the fan, then the other one and, tipping her head back, opened her eyes. They were haunting and luminous, soft in the candlelight. Her skin was pale and smooth. The crowd was utterly quiet, watching her. And then, she began to sing. If Dare had thought Laurel Spencer beautiful before, now she became goddess-like to him in an instant as a melody so heart-wrenching and lovely spilled forth from her lips.

Claire… It is not what you think. Won’t you please allow me to explain? Please. Allow me to speak with you.” It was more tempting than she liked. “There is nothing to say. We both know what I saw.” She paused. “Now go away.” Her tone was as aloof as she could manage between tears that would not stop. She saw the handle turn. “Don’t you dare!” She took a pre-emptive step back. But he did dare. The door opened slowly. “Are you…dressed?” “Of course, I am dressed!” she said furiously. “I am packing. Kindly have a carriage ordered.” It was a lie but he would not know that. Her case was still open on the window seat. He pushed the door open wider. He did not look like a man who had come from the arms of another woman. His face was not flushed with desire. It looked rather drawn in fact. But what did she know of such things? Perhaps that woman had merely exhausted him. “I did not invite her here, Claire. I did not even know she was coming.” He pushed locks of dark hair from his eyes. Claire bit her lip, thinking of how she had looked forward to touching those waves, brushing it possessively off his face herself. “Serafina does what she pleases. As you can see, she has no sense of propriety or discretion. She believes she owns Isabel and I even still. Even though, after her unforgiveable actions, she quite thoroughly relinquished rights to us both some time ago. I do not believe Isabel has pardoned her yet. I certainly will not.” He looked at her, eyes wide and beseeching. Not a hint of pride or arrogance. “She does not want me to be happy without her, Claire,” he said softly. “She must have found out I was to be married and she came with all haste. This is exactly what she was hoping for—or nearly so. When you walked in…” “Oh? Nearly so?” Fury twisted inside her. “I apologize for intruding so unexpectedly, for interrupting your passionate liaison. I suppose if Isabel and I had not walked in, you would still be there even now. On the floor together perhaps.” Thomas looked taken aback, then angry. “Of course not! Do you really think me so…? Is that what you believe, Claire? You did exactly what Serafina hoped you would do. Reacted with anger and jealousy, blamed me, and stormed out.” “Jealousy!” Claire exclaimed, drawing herself up. “I assure you—I am not jealous in the least. If she wants you, she is welcome to have you. I did not want you in the first place, as you will recall.” He flinched. If she did not know better, she might almost have believed him to be hurt. She swallowed hard. “What have I to be jealous of? The fact that you prefer your mistress to…” Oh, no. Her voice was catching in her throat. “…to… me…” She hiccupped embarrassingly, tears flowing over. All of a sudden Thomas’s arms were around her, holding her firmly to his chest. “Claire… No, no…” he whispered. Her cheek was pressed up rather roughly against his tailcoat. He smelled so good. She closed her eyes, her body relaxing against him. There was another smell there. An overpoweringly sweet scent of lilacs. She pushed herself away, hands against his chest. “You smell of her.” He looked horrified. Horrified that he did? Or horrified that she had noticed? Did he smell of her from head to toe? Claire felt nauseous.