Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade

You cannot compel love," he said finally, "nor summon it at will. Still less," he added ruefully, "can you dismiss it.

He stood for a moment, bereavement a sudden, small tear in his soul.

Men are made in God's image, or so I am told. Likewise that we differ from the animals in having reason. Reason, therefore, must plainly be a characteristic of the Almighty, quod erat demonstrandum. Is it reasonable, then, to create men whose very nature— clearly constructed and defined by yourself— is inimical to your own laws and must lead inevitably to destruction? Whatever would be the point of that? Does it not strike you as a most capricious notion— to say nothing of being wasteful?

A conclusion is simply the point at which you give up thinking.

He who throws dirt is losing ground,

Of course you would protect the woman,” he said. “You protect everyone, John—I don’t suppose you can help it.” Astonished, Grey opened his mouth to contest this absurd statement, but was forestalled when Percy leaned forward and kissed him softly. “You are the bravest man I know,” Percy said, his breath warm on Grey’s cheek. “And you will not convince me otherwise.

Would it be better if I’d had daughters?” she asked the mirror, in apparent earnestness. “No,” she answered herself. “They’d only marry men, and there you are.

He paused by the window, looking up into a lavender sky, fingers pressed against the icy glass. No stars tonight; the snowflakes came down out of the dark, rushing towards him, endless, uncountable. Silent, too, but not like the stars. Falling snow whispered secrets to itself. “And you are a fanciful idiot,” he said outloud.

Grey had noticed this female paradox before: women who swooned at the notion of powerful men who would protect them at the same time liked nothing better than an open admission of helplessness on the part of any male within their sphere of influence.

Still, that would not solve the problem; Percy would merely languish in prison until such time as Grey was recovered enough to testify. No, he decided, Hal’s response would more likely be to knock Grey over the head, bundle him into a sack, and have him smuggled aboard a merchantman bound for China, after which he would declare Grey lost at sea, and… He discovered that he was laughing helplessly at the thought, tears coming to his eyes. “Christ, Hal, I wish you would,” he said aloud, and quite suddenly thought of Aberdeen, realizing for the first time just how desperately his brother loved him.

It was a hound of some sort, black and disproportionately long-bodied, with lets so stumpy that they appeared to have been amputated. With large, liquid eyes and a sturdy long tail in constant motion, it resembled nothing so much as and exceedingly amiable sausage.

Wait, let me get that down. Primum: save…men. Secundo: do not…drop…weapon. Tertio—what’s the third thing on this list?” “Suck my prick,” Grey said rudely. “Ass.” Percy promptly flipped the sketchbook shut and came toward him, eyes brighter still. “Wait! I didn’t mean it!” “Just following orders,” Percy murmured, pinning him to the bed with a deft knee on his thigh, and getting a hand on his flies. “Sir.

One of my mother’s friends was an artist. He showed me a few things – though warning me that to become an artist was the only certain way to starve.

You want me to attend your hanging?” His tone must have contained some of the incredulity he felt, for the captain gave him an impatient look. “I’d have sent an engraved invitation, had I time,” he said.

Wainwright was telling some story, his face alight, and even across the room, Grey felt the warmth of his presence. As though he sensed their scrutiny, Percy glanced suddenly in their direction, and shot Grey a smile of such delight in his surroundings that Grey smiled back, delighted in turn to see him manage so well. Lucinda Joffrey emitted a hum of approval. “Oh, yes,” she said. “And quite good style, too. Did you dress him?” she inquired. No, but I should like very much to undress him.

A party at which the guests are all of the beautiful persuasion tends to be dull indeed, as they have no conversation that does not pertain to themselves. A successful gathering requires a number of the ill-favored but clever. The beautiful are but ornaments—desirable, but dispensable.