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Image of the quote is loading... SaveSave There is a view,” he said. “You will admire it.” A command. All wrong. He meant for her to hear that he wanted her to see the view, but no. By habit, he demanded that she accompany him. “I should like for you to see it. Please. - Quote by Carolyn Jewel

There is a view,” he said. “You will admire it.” A command. All wrong. He meant for her to hear that he wanted her to see the view, but no. By habit, he demanded that she accompany him. “I should like for you to see it. Please.

Carolyn Jewel
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Because, good God, Lily Wellstone had the face of an angel, the body of a goddess, and the spirit of the devil glinting from her eyes. She was a woman worth losing his soul for.
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Her gaze collided with the duke’s. His eyes were a clear, pale green. Why was he staring so intently when there was hardly another woman less interesting than she?
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You are walking to Hope Springs?” “Yes, Your Grace.” “In this weather?” She glanced around and gave him a smile. “I haven’t any other weather to walk in.
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He’d seen that absent look from her dozens of times in London. She thought herself invisible, and was not. Not to him. This was the second time he’d mentioned marriage to her. The second time she heard nothing but his words.
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If he spoke, there was no possible outcome but another disastrous exchange of words at cross-purposes. The chances of him finding both the right words and the right inflection were, in his experience with her thus far, vanishingly small. He would either growl at her, or tell her what was in his heart.
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Dread that she would meet some other man and see in him all the joy of life that he lacked. “I will see you home.” The words came out all wrong, with gruff emphasis on the word will. One look at her, and he lost all chance at serenity. Because he had never in his life cared whether anyone liked him. He’d never thought about it. Until her.
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She cocked her head. The ribbon tied beneath her chin glinted dully in the light. “Have I said something wrong?”“No."“I have.” She stepped closer. “You are the most inscrutable man I have ever met.” He laughed. No mirth at all. “I’m quite serious.” She studied him. “No.” Her quiet voice lanced through him. “Don’t look away. Not when I am about to understand you.” “Are you certain you wish to?” He held her gaze, and the silence of his hunting box became unendurable. He fixed in his head an image of her in his bed. Nude. And of him, there to touch, and taste, experiencing that moment when his prick slid into her body. Her. Not any woman, but her. Specifically. The woman who made him see beauty where he’d once seen only duty.
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Miss Edith Clay brightened the room with her presence. Just from walking through the door, she’d made the room a happier place. This was true despite his having spent the last several months assuring himself his recollection of her had to be incorrect. His recollection was not incorrect. It was appallingly accurate.
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