Everyone has secrets. Especially me.

The look Anthony shot at his sister was so comically malevolent Simon nearly laughed. He managed to restrain himself, but mostly just because he was fairly certain that any show of humor would cause Anthony's fist to lose its battle with his brain, with Simon's face emerging as the conflict's primary casualty.

Daphne felt something wild and wicked take hold. “Let’s walk in the garden,” she said softly. “We can’t.” “We must.” “We can’t.

Of course none of those men was suitable. Half were after your fortune, and as for the other half—well, you would have reduced them to tears within a month.” “Such tenderness for your youngest child,” Hyacinth muttered. “It quite undoes me.

Where is he? Bridgerton!" he bellowed. Three chestnut heads swiveled in his direction. Simon stomped across the grass, murder in his eyes. "I meant the idiot Bridgerton." "That, I believe," Anthony said mildly, tilting his chin toward Colin, "would refer to you.

His brows rose. “And how is it that you have come to be such an expert on scrapes and bruises?” “I’m a governess,” she said. Because really, that ought to be explanation enough.

Tonight," he whispered, his voice hoarse and hot in her ear, "I will make you mine." -Simon to Daphne