The Prettiest Smile Hides Quotes

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the prettiest smile hide the deepest secrets.the prettiest eyes have cried the most tears.and the kindest hearts have felt the most pain.
Idk sorry :'
Besides the fact that you’re a scoundrel at the gaming tables,” she responded tartly, “I’m beginning to suspect that you’re a womanizing rake.” Christopher grinned leisurely as his perusal swept her. “I’ve been a long time at sea. However, I doubt that in your case my reaction would vary had I just left the London Court.” Erienne’s eyes flared with poorly suppressed ire. The insufferable egotist! Did he dare think he could find a willing wench at the back door of the mayor’s cottage? “I’m sure that Claudia Talbot would welcome your company, sir. Why don’t you ride on over to see her? I hear his lordship traveled off to London this morning.” He laughed softly at her sneering tones. “I’d rather be courting you.” “Why?” she scoffed. “Because you want to thwart my father?” His smiling eyes captured hers and held them prisoner until she felt a warmth suffuse her cheeks. He answered with slow deliberation. “Because you are the prettiest maid I’ve ever seen, and I’d like to get to know you better. And of course, we should delve into this matter of your accidents more thoroughly, too.” Twin spots of color grew in her cheeks, but the deepening dusk did much to hide her blush. Lifting her nose primly in the air, Erienne turned aside, tossing him a cool glance askance. “How many women have you told that to, Mr. Seton?” A crooked smile accompanied his reply. “Several, I suppose, but I’ve never lied. Each had their place in time, and to this date, you are the best I’ve seen.” He reached out and taking a handful of the cracklings, he chewed the crisp morsels as he awaited her reaction. A flush of anger spread to the delicate tips of her ears, and icy fire smoldered in the deep blue-violet pools. “You conceited, unmitigated boor!” Her voice was as cold and as flat as the Russian steppes. “Do you think to add me to your long string of conquests?” Her chilled contempt met him face to face until he rose and towered above her. His eyes grew distant, and he reached out a finger to flip a curl that had strayed from beneath the kerchief. “Conquest?” His voice was soft and deeply resonant. “You mistake me, Erienne. In the rush of a moment’s lust, there are purchased favors, and these are for the greater part forgotten. The times that are cherished and remembered are not taken, are not given, but shared, and are thus treasured as a most blissful event.” He lifted his coat on his fingertips and slung it over his shoulder. “I do not ask that you yield to me, nor do I desire to conquer you. All I plead is that you grant me moments now and then that I might present my case, to the end that we could share a tender moment at some distant time.” -Erienne & Christopher
Kathleen E. Woodiwiss (A Rose in Winter)
You’d be so fucking proud of me, Pen, I think as I spot her ghost standing in the corner, smiling at me and wearing the prettiest pink skirt and the brightest pink lipstick and beaming like the whole world is on fire and burning just for us. There is no end to the things that I can do, that I can accomplish. “I’ve always been proud, Bernadette,” she tells me as I choke on tears and try to hide my reaction from the boys.
C.M. Stunich (Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys, #5))
He peered through a broken window and saw a face. The face of The Great Chaffalo. “You saved me, for certain,” declared Touch, his heart still banging away. “I’m mighty grateful, sir. And thankful for the horse.” For the first time Touch looked down at the high-legged stallion under him. It was a bay with a golden mane and a hide as fine as China silk. “More’n I reckoned for, sir!” Touch exclaimed. “A plow horse would have done me fine. This must be the prettiest horse this side of sunset.” “It is,” agreed The Great Chaffalo with an air of pride. “Although I might have done a tad better with the tail. I’m somewhat out of practice.” Touch felt bedazzled. “I can’t imagine how you do it, sir!” “A bit of straw and a touch of midnight,” remarked The Great Chaffalo with a lofty smile. “It was a secret passed on to me by a Hey Hey Man in the Black Forest. A fellow trickster.” And Touch said, “I was in the coach early this morning when you jumped on the roof.” “I do like to kick up my heels, now and then. Did I frighten you?” “No, sir. Not exactly. I was almighty curious, though. I’d never seen a haunt before.” “A haunt! I’ve never haunted anything. I regard that as slander. Do I look like a frail wisp of smoke?” “No, sir,” replied Touch quickly. “You look big as life.” “Bigger!” declared The Great Chaffalo, with a sharp lift of one eyebrow. “Of course, sir,” said Touch, becoming a little nervous. The magician kept piercing him with his black poster eyes. “You must swear not to tell anyone how you came by this horse,” said the Great Chaffalo. “I don’t want every farm boy turning up with a bundle of straw.” “I swear it, sir.” “Ride on, Touch.” And with a snap of his long fingers, The Great Chaffalo was gone.
Sid Fleischman (The Midnight Horse)