She longed to throw something at him. A chair. Herself.

I must be besotted,” he said evenly. “I have the imbecilic idea that you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Except for your coiffure,” he added, with a disgusted glance at the coils and plumes and pearls. “That is ghastly.” She scowled. “Your romantic effusions leave me breathless.

Let me explain something to you, he said. If you want to get something out of a man, dashing out his brains against a lamppost isn't the way to do it.

Life is not an opera. Scenes belong on the stage.

Adieu, Lord Dain,” she answered without turning her head. “Have a pleasant evening with your cows.” Cows? She was merely trying to provoke him, Dain told himself. The remark was a pathetic attempt at a setdown. To take offense was to admit he’d felt the sting. He told himself to laugh and return to his… cows.

Parents must be treated with respect, whether one wants to strangle them or not.

"Miss you," he said. It was the barest murmur, scarcely a sound.