The question, love, is whether you want me enough to take the risk.

I-I’m not making advances,” she told him as she flattened herself against his chest. “You’re just an available s-source of heat.” “So you say,” St. Vincent replied lazily, tucking the quilt more tightly around them both. “However, during the past quarter hour you’ve been fondling parts of my anatomy that no one’s ever dared to touch before.” “I v-very much doubt that.” She burrowed even further into the depths of his coat, and added in a muffled voice, “You’ve probably been h-handled more than a hamper at Fortnum and Mason.

Recently Mr. Mawdsley’s donkey escaped from his stall, raced down the road, and somehow found his way into an enclosed pasture. Mr. Caird’s prized mare was innocently grazing when the ill-bred seducer had his way with her. Now it appears the mare has conceived, and a feud is raging between Caird, who demands financial compensation, and Mawdsley, who insists that had the pasture fencing been in better repair, the clandestine meeting would never have occurred. Worse still, it has been suggested that the mare is a shameless lightskirt and did not try nearly hard enough to preserve her virtue.

He was my confidant, the person who was always on my side even when he wasn't taking my side.

We’ll continue our discussion later. Right now I intend to escort Miss Peyton to her room.” “That is not a wise idea, in my opinion,” the earl said. “I’m glad I didn’t ask for it, then,” Simon returned pleasantly

One could pick apart love, examine every filament of attraction, and still it would never be fully explained. It simply was.

Good God. I don’t believe St. Vincent and the word ‘celibacy’ have ever been mentioned in the same sentence before.