His eyes were jet-colored circles of perpetual disapproval.

What’s wrong with you? Are you ill? I forbid you to be ill, wife.

Really, Sophronia, it makes me most uncomfortable how you manage to sort everything out every time I faint.

Alexia, did you know there is an entire regiment decamping on your front lawn? Laddy Maccon sighed. "Really, Ivy, I would never have noticed.

Who doesn’t want an exploding wicker chicken?

A man was attacking me with a wet handkerchief.

Well, my love,” said Alexia with prodigious daring to Lord Maccon, “shall we?” The earl started to move forward and then stopped abruptly and looked down at her, not moving at all. “Am I?” “Are you what?” She peeked up at him through her tangled hair, pretending confusion. There was no possible way she was going to make this easy for him. “Your love?” “Well, you are a werewolf, Scottish, naked, and covered in blood, and I am still holding your hand.” He sighed in evident relief. “Good. That is settled, then.