“Having regrets is the only sign that you’ve done anything interesting with your life.”
“Annabelle’s eyes stung as she stared at him, while need and inexhaustible tenderness gathered like an ache in her body. “I realized something,” she said huskily, “when I was standing outside the foundry, watching it burn and knowing you were inside.” She swallowed hard against the thickness in her throat. “I would rather have died in your arms, Simon, than face a lifetime without you. All those endless years… all those winters, summers… a hundred seasons of wanting you and never having you. Growing old, while you stayed eternally young in my memories.” She bit her lip and shook her head, while her eyes flooded. “I was wrong when I told you that I didn’t know where I belonged. I do. With you, Simon. Nothing matters except being with you. You’re stuck with me forever, and I’ll never listen when you tell me to go.” She managed a tremulous smile. “So you may as well stop complaining and resign yourself to it.”
“I spent most of my youth hauling sides of beef and pork to my father's shop. Carrying you is far more enjoyable."
"How sweet," Annabelle mumbled sickly, her eyes closed. "Every woman dreams of being told that she's preferable to a dead cow.”
“I'm not short," Daisy muttered. "Short women are never mysterious, or elegant, or pursued by handsome men. And they're always treated like children. I refuse to be short.”
“Where are we going?” Annabelle asked, resisting his hold on her wrist.
“To the house. If they’re not willing to be witnesses, then it seems I’ll have to debauch you in front of someone else.”
“I'm coming to believe that there are two kinds of people... those who choose to be masters of their own fate and those who wait in chairs while other dance. I would rather be one of the former than the latter.”
“The earl shook his head, exhibiting a degree of frosty offense that could only be achieved by an aristocrat whose wishes had just been gainsaid. “I’ve never heard of a man being so eager to confess to the parent of a girl he’s just ruined,” he said sourly.”
“Annabelle gave him a chiding smile. “If you’re implying that I’m spoiled, I assure you that I am not.”
“You should be.” His warm gaze slid over her pink-tinted face and slender upper body, then sought hers again. There was a note in his voice that gently robbed her of breath. “You could do with a bit of spoiling.”
“It seemed as if some subtle current of recognition had passed between them... not as if they had met before... but as if they had come close several times until finally an impatient Fate had forced their paths to intersect.”
“The truth is, you can never really know a man until you've loaned him money. And you can never know a woman until you've slept in her bed.”
“I love you dammit,"she brushed her lips teasingly against his.
"How much?" He made a slight sound, as if the soft kiss had affected him intensely.
"Without limit. Beyond forever.”
“I’ve never heard of a man being so eager to confess to the parent of a girl he’s just ruined”
“We are hidiously rich Annabelle-- and I've got three older brothers, all unmarried. Would you consider one of them? If you like, I'll have one shipped across the Atlantic for your inspection." -Lillian Bowman”
“My peer would have to be dark-haired and handsome, a wonderful dancer... and he would never ask permission before he kissed me." -Lillian Bowman”
“Evie," Lillian interupted impatiently, "men expect to be deceived in these matters. They're happiest that way. If one were straightforward with them the whole prospect of marriage would be too alarming, and none of them would ever do it.”
“Although Annabelle couldn’t see his face, she heard the note of quiet warning in his voice as he spoke to Westcliff. “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.”
“Hunt looked like a man who had visited many woman's beds and knew exactly what to do in them.”
“Oh, all right,” she said balefully, beginning to shake all over. “I’ll admit it—I want you. There, are you satisfied? I want you.”
“In what capacity? Lover, or husband?”
Annabelle stared at him in shock. “What?” His arms slid around her, holding her quivering frame securely against his. He said nothing, only watched her intently as she tried to grasp the implications of the question.
“But you’re not the marrying kind,” she managed to say weakly. He touched her ear, his fingertip tracing the fragile outer curve. “I’ve discovered that I am when it comes to you.” The subtle caress set fire to her blood, making it difficult to think.
“We would probably kill each other within the first month.” “Probably,” Hunt conceded, his smiling mouth brushing over her temple. The warmth of his lips sent a rush of dizzying pleasure through her.
“But marry me anyway, Annabelle. As I see things, it would solve most of your problems …and more than a few of mine.” His big hand slid gently down her spine, calming her tremors.
“Let me spoil you,” he whispered. “Let me take care of you. You’ve never had anyone to lean on, have you? I’ve got strong shoulders, Annabelle.” A deep laugh rumbled in his chest. “And I may possibly be the only man of your acquaintance who’ll be able to afford you.”
“Simon,” she whispered, vaguely surprised that she had just used his first name, for she had never used it even in the privacy of her thoughts. Moistening her dry lips, she tried once more, and to her astonishment, she did it again. “Simon…”
“Yes?” A new tension had entered his long, hard body, and at the same time, his hand moved over the shape of her skull in the softest caress possible.
“Please… take me to my room.”
Hunt tilted her head back gently and regarded her with a sudden faint smile playing on his lips. “Sweetheart, I would take you to Timbuktu if you asked.”
“Miss Peyton,” Lillian Bowman asked, “what kind of man would be the ideal husband for you?”
“Oh,” Annabelle said with irreverent lightness, “any peer will do.”
“Any peer?” Lillian asked skeptically. “What about good looks?”
Annabelle shrugged. “Welcome, but not necessary.”
“What about passion?” Daisy inquired.
“Decidedly unwelcome.”
“Intelligence?” Evangeline suggested.
Annabelle shrugged. “Negotiable.”
“Charm?” Lillian asked.
“Also negotiable.”
“You don’t want much,” Lillian remarked dryly. “As for me, I would have to add a few conditions. My peer would have to be dark-haired and handsome, a wonderful dancer…and he would never ask permission before he kissed me.”
“I want to marry a man who has read the entire collected works of Shakespeare,” Daisy said. “Someone quiet and romantic—better yet if he wears spectacles— and he should like poetry and nature, and I shouldn’t like him to be too experienced with women.”
Her older sister lifted her eyes heavenward. “We won’t be competing for the same men, apparently.”
Annabelle looked at Evangeline Jenner. “What kind of husband would suit you, Miss Jenner?”
“Evie,” the girl murmured, her blush deepening until it clashed with her fiery hair. She struggled with her reply, extreme bashfulness warring with a strong instinct for privacy. “I suppose…I would like s-s-someone who was kind and…” Stopping, she shook her head with a self-deprecating smile. “I don’t know. Just someone who would l-love me. Really love me.”
The words touched Annabelle, and filled her with sudden melancholy. Love was a luxury she had never allowed herself to hope for—a distinctly superfluous issue when her very survival was so much in question. However, she reached out and touched the girl’s gloved hand with her own. “I hope you find him,” she said sincerely. “Perhaps you won’t have to wait for long.”
“Annabelle stared straight ahead at the canvas, neither seeing nor caring about the fluctuations of light and color that conveyed impressions of approaching nightfall…the dusk of the Roman Empire. Hunt seemed similarly indifferent to the show, his head inclined toward hers, his gaze locked on her face. Though his breathing remained soft and disciplined, it seemed to her that its rhythm had changed ever so slightly.
Annabelle moistened her dry lips. “You…you mustn’t stare at me like that.”
Soft as the murmur was, he caught it. “With you here, nothing else is worth looking at.”
“I never lie for the sake of kindness,” he murmured, smiling. “One of my many flaws.”
“Here's your hat, and by the way, I'm a virgin”
“Because I realized during the past few days that I can’t leave doubt in anyone’s mind about to whom you belong. Especially not yours.”
“Gradually his mouth shifted away from hers, and he bit softly at the delicate silk of her throat. He murmured things that shocked her, expressing himself not in flowery phrases, but with the raw simplicity of a man whose lust for her knew no limits. “I have no self-control where you’re concerned. Every minute that I’m not with you, all I can think about is being inside you. I hate everything that keeps you separate from me.”
“How sweet," Annabelle mumbled sickly her eyes closed. "Every woman dreams of being told that she's preferable to a dead cow.”
“Hunt and Annabelle stared at each other in silent bemusement, as if someone had posed a question that neither of them knew how to answer.
The moment lengthened uncomfortably, until Simon Hunt finally spoke. “A pretty sound, that,” he said softly.
Annabelle struggled to find her voice. “What is?” she asked.
“Your laughter.”
“Holding himself deep inside her, he groaned, while a shiver ran across his shoulders. “You’re so tight,” he said hoarsely.
“I-I’m sorry—”
“No, no,” he managed. “Don’t be sorry. My God.” His voice was slurred, as if he was drunk on pleasure.”
“Suddenly the theater was plunged into utter blinding darkness, while an ominous rumbling rose from beneath the platform. There were several little screams of alarm, a scattering of laughter, and loud gasps of anticipation. Annabelle’s spine went rigid as she felt the brush of a hand on her back. His hand, sliding with slow deliberateness up her spine…his scent, fresh and beguiling in her nostrils …and before she could make a sound, his mouth, possessing hers in a warm, softly ravishing kiss.
She was too stunned to move, her hands in the air like butterflies suspended in midflight, her swaying body anchored by his light clasp on her waist, while his other hand cradled the back of her neck. Annabelle had been kissed before, by brash young men who had stolen a quick embrace during a walk in the garden, or in a corner of the parlor when they would not be observed. But none of those brief, flirtatious encounters had been like this …a kiss so slow and dizzying that it filled her with delirium.
Sensations rushed through her, far too strong to manage, and she quivered helplessly in his hold. Compelled by instinct, she lifted blindly into the tenderly restless caress of his lips. The pressure of his lips increased as he demanded more, rewarding her helpless response with a voluptuous exploration that set her senses on fire. Just as she began to lose all sanity, his mouth released hers with startling suddenness, leaving her dazed. Keeping his supportive hand on the downy-soft nape of her neck, he bent his head until a rueful murmur tickled her ear.
“Sorry. I couldn’t resist.” His touch withdrew completely, and when red-filtered light finally invaded the theater, he was gone.”
“That is the queen—the most powerful piece on the board. She can move in any direction, and go as far as she wishes.” There was nothing overtly suggestive in his manner of speaking …but when he spoke softly, as he was doing at that moment, there was a husky depth in his voice that made her toes curl inside her slippers. “More powerful than the king?” she asked.
“Yes. The king can only move one square at a time. But the king is the most important piece.”
“Why is he more important than the queen if he’s not the most powerful?”
“Because once he is captured, the game is over.”
“Worst of all, she expected him to kiss her. A lot. God, the amount of time the woman spent slobbering all over him when they were performing the act made him feel like his face was crawling with germs. What was it with women and kissing anyway?”
“If you are patient in one moment of anger, you will avoid a hundred days of sorrow.”
“HIV is free, why pay for it”
“There are disappointments in all men's lives, even those who have achieved their ambition, and there are compensations.”
“There’s only so much luck and mercy God can offer, and I’ve used up my fair share, Pat. I can see her standing by my coffin, and I won’t do that to her.”
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