Razo hopped back up and adopted a posture that said he was completely unruffled, never had been, and in fact was ready to do something manly like lift boulders or swallow live worms.

Miss Erstwhile: “It is such a relief, Mr. Nobley, to already know that you find this exercise vulgar and your partner unworthy. It saves us the idle chitchat.” Mr. Nobley: “And yet you chat away.

Isi, I’m trying to say that you’ve been… no, you’re so, you’re–” He stopped. "You are,” he said. His hand found hers, and he held her finger tightly, as though he did not dare to do any more than hold her one hand, and look at her, and breathe deeply.

What? Don't British women know how to use their knees?

Goodness knows she is too fierce for you Goodness knows she has eyes for a lord Goodness knows she yet will prove untrue Her cheek's blush is as false as her word

Listen to your second thought, or the third might be too late.

... fantasy is not practice for what is real—fantasy is the opiate of women.