“...Mac, I want you to go back to the house and make sure the ladies don't get the idea to go searching as well. I told Eleanor not to, but you know the Mackenzie females."
Mac scowled."Hell, Hart, can't you find something easier for me to do? Go up against an army of assassins in my underwear, maybe?”
“Everything matters.Everything you do touches someone in some way, even though you might not understand that.”
“Hart caressed the letters of baby Graham’s name. “Mac likes to say, We’re Mackenzies. We break what we touch. But this little Mackenzie… he broke me.”
“For God's sake!" Hart sprang to his feet.
Everyone at the table stopped and stared at him, including Ian. "Do I have to be made a mockery of in my own house?"
Mac leaned back in his chair, his hands behind his head. "Would you prefer we made a mockery of you in the street? In Hyde Park, maybe? In the middle of Pall Mall? The card room in your club?"
"Mac, shut it!”
“You know women when they get talking. They don't stop for anything but unconsciousness.”
“Never around when you needed them, heroes.”
“Hart, you'd schedule Christ's second comimg and have Wilfred send him an itinery.”
“If this person is a blackmailer, El, I want you to have nothing more to do with it. Blackmailers are dangerous."
Her brows rose. "You've had dealings with them before, have you?"
Too bloody many times. "Attempting to blackmail the Mackenzie family is a popular pastime," Hart said.”
“This was the Hart Eleanor had known years ago, the one she'd agreed without hesitation to marry. He'd had the body of a god, a smile that melted her heart, a sinful glint in his eyes that had been just for her and her alone.”
“You are very cross tonight, Hart. Perhaps the lady disappointed you."
Hart stared at her over the glass he'd started to raise. "What lady?"
"The one whose perfume you positively reak of."
His brows went up."You mean the Countess von Hohenstahlen? She's eighty-two and drenches herself in scents that would make a tart blush.
"Oh.”
“The smile, the look, tugged at Eleanor's heart. Even in the fleeting glance, she'd seen great love in Ian's eyes, his determination to finish this letter and send it to Beth so she could enjoy decoding it. A way to tell her sweet nothings that no one else could understand. Private thoughts, shared between husband and wife.”
“My past is no secret to anyone. I'm a blackguard and a sinner, and everyone knows it. These days, that's almost an asset to being a politician.”
“Hart pointed at the carriage. "Get in."
Eleanor started, and the cake vendor, who'd been watching with evident enjoyment, looked worried. "No need," Eleanor said to Hart. "I'll find a hansom. I've brought Maigdlin an I have so many parcels."
"Get into the carriage, El, or I'll strap you to the top of it."
Eleanor rolled her eyes and took another bite of seedcake.”
“On her head perched a pillbox hat with an absurd little veil. She'd pulled the dotted veil up out of her eyes, but not completely - it hung lopsidedly, dangling over her right brow. Her dark brown dress was filmed with dust she'd raised, and dust caught on her damp cheeks. One lock of hair had escaped her coiffure, a red snake dancing down her bodice. She was delightfully mussed, and dear God, he wanted her.”
“Oh, my daughter, at times you have to fight, but preferably not with your fists.”
“How had it begun? Like everything: with mothers and fathers. Because of Lydia’s mother and father, because of her mother’s and father’s mothers and fathers.”
“The only way out is through.”
“I never want to regret. 'Regret' is the ugliest word.”
“¡Qué poco valoramos las cosas cuando no las hemos perdido!”
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