The way I was brought up ‘he needed killing’ is an airtight alibi.

I didn't know how to stop wanting him. It wasn't that I had any hope—I knew I'd never see him again. But that didn't stop me from comparing every other man to Hardy and finding them all lacking. I had exhausted myself loving him.

Christopher heard a pair of women gossiping nearby, whispering in disapproving undertones. "... Ramsey was found flirting in a corner with a woman. They had to drag him away from her." "Who was it?" "His own wife." "Oh, dear.

Matthew wanted hours, days, weeks alone with her... he wanted all her thoughts and smiles and secrets. The freedom to lay his soul bare before her.

It was often in small moments that significant things were revealed.

She felt him tremble with the force of his need. He spoke just beneath her ear, his voice thick with tormented pleasure. "You have to leave, Sara ... because I want to hold you like this until your skin melts into mine. I want you in my bed, the smell of you on my sheets, your hair spread across my pillow. I want to take your innocence. God! I want to ruin you for anyone else.

You aristocratic ladies and your gold-plated twats. You always think it's such a honor for me to touch you." He surveyed her with mocking green eyes. "You think you're the first high-kick wench I've ever had? I used to have blue-blooded bitches like you pay me to do this. You've gotten it for free.