Jennifer Ashley · 320 pages
Rating: (23.9K votes)
“We don't fit in, you and me," he said. "We're both oddities no one knows what to do with. But we fit together." He took her hand, pressed her palm to his, then laced their fingers through each other's. "We fit.”
“Ian closed his eyes. Beth watched emotions flicker across his face, the uncertainty, the stubbornness, the raw pain he’d lived with for so long. He didn’t always know how to express his emotions, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel them deeply.
When Ian slowly opened his eyes, he guided his gaze directly to Beth’s. His golden eyes shimmered and sparkled, pupils ringed with green. He held her gaze steadily, not blinking, or shifting away.
“I love you,” he said.
Beth caught her breath, and sudden tears blurred her vision.
“Love you,” Ian repeated. His gaze bore into hers harder than Hart’s ever could hope to. “Love you, love you, love you, love you, love you, love you…”
“Is this what love feels like?" he whispered to her. "I don't like it, my Beth. It hurts too much.”
“I do not think of him as Lord Ian Mackenzie, aristocratic brother of a duke and well beyond my reach; not as the Mad Mackenzie, an eccentric people stare at and whisper about.
To me, he is simply Ian.”
“Ian cupped her chin and turned her face up to his. Then he did what he’d been practicing since the night on the train – he looked her fully in the eyes.
He couldn’t always do it. Sometimes his gaze simply refused to obey, and he’d turn away with a growl. But more and more he’d been able to focus directly on her. Ian’s eyes were beautiful, even more so when his pupils widened with desire. “Have I told you today that I love you?” he asked. “A few dozen times. Not that I mind.”
As a young woman who’d been starved for love much of her life, Beth lapped up Ian’s generous outpouring of the words. He’d surprise her with them, catching her as she walked down the hall, pushing her up against a wall, breathing, “I love you.” Or he’d tickle her awake and tell her while she tried to hit him with a pillow. The best was when he lay against her in the dark, fingers tracing her body. She treasured his whispered, “I love you.”
“Stay with me.”
“We’re married,” she whispered. “Of course I’ll stay.”
“You could decide to leave me.”
“I won’t.” “Promise me.”
“I have promised. I do promise.”
“Beth stared at the bowl, a fragile piece of the past, such a delicate object in Ian’s large, blunt fingers. “Are you certain?”
“Of course I’m certain.” His frown returned. “Do you not want it?”
“I do want it,” Beth said hastily. She held her hands out for it. “I’m honored.” The frown faded, to be replaced by a slight quirk of his lips.
“Is it better than a new carriage and horses and a dozen frocks?”
“What are you talking about? It’s a hundred times better.”
“It’s only a bowl.”
“It’s special to you, and you gave it to me.” Beth took it carefully and smiled at the dragons chasing one another in eternal determination. “It’s the best gift in the world.”
Ian took it gently back from her and replaced it in its slot. That made sense; in here it would stay safe and unbroken.
But the kiss Ian gave her after that was anything but sensible. It was wicked and bruising, and she had no idea why he smiled so triumphantly.”
“Because when I look at you, I forget everything. I lose all track of what I’m saying or doing. I can see only your eyes.”
“...Illegitimate children can be left money, but they can't inherit the peerage."
"You wouldn't want it," Cameron put in. "More trouble than it's worth. And for God's sake, don't murder Hart or I'm next.”
“Why is she so stubborn? And disobedient?” Cameron barked a laugh. “Because Mackenzies always choose headstrong women. You didn’t really expect her to obey you, did you? No matter what the marriage vows say?”
“Explain to me what loving feels like, Beth. I want to understand.”
“My Beth,” he whispered, his breath hot on her swollen lips. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Beth couldn’t stop crying, but she smiled, her face aching with it.
“Setting me free.”
“This was too absurd, and at the same time dismayingly tempting.”
“I'm not a bloodhound, your lordships."
"Woof, woof," Cameron said, giving Fellows an evil grin. "Good dog.”
“He pulled her close. "Your being with me makes it stop. It's like the Ming bowls - when I touch them and feel them, everything stops. You are the same. That is why I brought you here, to keep you with me, where you can please make...everything...stop.”
“She heard the echoes of Ian’s screams in her head. Beth pressed her forehead to his hands, her heart wrenching. Ian’s hands were large, sinews hard under his kid-leather gloves. Yes, he was strong. In the Tuileres Gardens, it had taken both Mac and Curry to pull him away from Fellows. That didn’t mean others could try to tear at that strength, try to defeat him. The doctors in the horrible asylum had done it, and now Fellows was trying to.
I’m falling in love with you, she wanted to say into their clasped hands. Do you mind awfully?”
“she liked to laugh that a young widow who'd just come into a good fortune must be, to misquote Jane Austen, in want of a husband.”
“I have a question to ask you.” Beth stretched one arm across the back of the seat, hoping she looked provocative. “And what is that, husband?” Ian leaned down, his body hemming her in. His large fists rested on the seat back behind her. “Do I love you?”
“When you love, especially with your heart, it comes upon you so fast, you don't have time to resist.”
“Don't hunger for what you can't have, she admonished herself. Take pleasure in what you can. Such thoughts had got her through the worst days.”
“—Algunas veces me siento sobrepasado. Intentar entender lo que dice la gente, tratar de recordar todo lo que se supone que debo hacer para parecer normal, es difícil para mí. A veces las reglas son demasiado duras. Así que me voy por un tiempo.”
“Do you mind my madness? Even if you’re right that I can contain the rages, I will always be mad. I won’t get better.” “I know.” Beth snuggled against his chest. “It’s part of the very intriguing package that is Ian Mackenzie.”
“Call me Beth, please,” she said. “I am no longer Mrs. Ackerley and have become, to our mutual astonishment, your sister.” Hart”
“A safe harbor. In the turmoil of her life, she’d known so few of them.”
“You didn’t want Mather to have the bowls, and you didn’t want him to have me.” He stared a moment. Then he leaned to her, suddenly fierce. “When I saw you, I knew I had to take you away from him. He had no idea what you were worth, just like he can’t price the damn bowls. He’s a philistine.”
“Beth knew in that instant that she was not a true lady, and never would be. A true lady would have fallen out of her chair in a gentle swoon or screamed down the opera house. Instead, Beth leaned into Ian’s touch, liking it.”
“All of us are mad in some way,” Ian said. “I have a memory that won’t let go of details. Hart is obsessed with politics and money. Cameron is a genius with horses, and Mac paints like a god. You find out details on your cases that others miss. You are obsessed with justice and getting everything you think is coming to you. We all have our madness. Mine is just the most obvious.”
“The trouble with Ian Mackenzie’s questions was that he asked the unanswerable. And yet she should know how to answer—everyone should. But they couldn’t, because everyone simply knew. Everyone except Ian.”
“Perhaps I can’t save them from themselves,” Beth answered. “But I will try to save them from you.” Fellows”
“Visiting a brothel is respectable, the vicar’s widow asks with her brows raised?” “They”
“Stories are artifacts, not really made things which we create and can take credit for, but pre-existing objects which we dig up.”
“Not to sound, you know, like a dick," Jack said carefully. "But you just dragged us out of bed to show us Jane's messy room? That's not really an emergency Mae."
"She's not here!" Mae shouted, gesturing to the mess around her. "That's the emergency."
"Again, not to be a dick, but that's not really an emergency." Jack said.”
“If there were a map of the solar system, but instead of stars it showed people and their degrees of separation, my star would be the one you had to travel the most light-years from to get to his. You would die getting to him.”
“Jetez sur une étoile un rapide coup d'œil, regardez-la obliquement, en tournant vers elle la partie latérale de la rétine (beaucoup plus sensible à une lumière faible que la partie centrale), et vous verrez l'étoile plus distinctement; vous aurez l'appréciation la plus juste de son éclat, éclat qui s'obscurcit à proportion que vous dirigez votre vue en plein sur elle. Dans le dernier cas, il tombe sur l'œil un plus grand nombre de rayons; mais dans le premier, il y a une réceptibilité plus complète, une susceptibilité beaucoup plus vive. Une profondeur outrée affaiblit la pensée et la rend perplexe; et il est possible de faire disparaître Vénus elle-même du firmament par une attention trop soutenue, trop concentrée, trop directe.”
“At this time, the cusp of the modern age, the hinge of the nineteenth century, had a plebiscite been taken amongst all the inhabitants of the world, by far the great number of them, occupied as they were throughout the planet with daily business of agriculture of the slash and burn variety, warfare, metaphysics and procreation, would have heartily concurred with these indigenous Siberians that the whole idea of the twentieth century, or any other century at all, for that matter, was a rum notion. Had the global plebiscite been acted upon in a democratic manner, the twentieth century would have forthwith ceased to exist, the entire system of dividing up years by one hundred would have been abandoned and time, by popular consent, would have stood still.”
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