Childhood romances always seem so real, so enduring, when we are separated from the object of our affection. But usually, when we return, we find that our dreams and memories quiet surpassed reality. -Lady Anne, Whitney's aunt

Reformed rakes often make the best husbands

His gaze held hers, and his voice was tender and rough. “Love me, Elizabeth.” Elizabeth felt a tremor run through her entire body, but she looked at him without flinching. “I do.

Clayton," she said softly, her voice threaded with tears, "when Vanessa asked about my accomplishments tonight, I forgot to mention that I do have one. And it's--it's so splendid that it compensates for my lack of all the others." Stephen and Clayton grinned at each other, neither of them hearing the emotion that clogged her voice. "What splendid accomplishments is that, little one?" Clayton asked. Her shoulders hunched forward and began to shake. "I made you love me," she whispered brokenly. "Somehow, some way, I actually made you love me.

Let me go.” “I can’t”, he said hoarsely, (…)” I’ve tried a hundred times to let you go, Victoria, but I can’t.

Because,” he said quietly as she stood up, “until you walked into it, this was an ordinary garden.” Puzzled, Elizabeth tipped her head. “What is it now?” “Heaven.

Looking at you has been my favorite pastime from the moment you asked me to describe your face," he said solemnly, looking straight into her eyes.