Historical Romance Quotes - Page 8

You took Theo's title and his home," West continued in appalled disbelief, "and now you want his wife.""His widow," Devon muttered."Have you seduced her?""Not yet."West clapped his hand to his forehead. "Christ. Don't you think she's suffered enough?

I believe I was about to do this." He angled his head and nibbled on her lower lip. A small moan escaped her. Emboldened, he deepened the kiss and found she did not hesitate to explore on her own. Blood rushed to his groin and stiffened his arousal. Never had he met a lady so comfortable with her sensuality.

You tempt me beyond reason." Her heart sped up. Indeed he tempted her beyond reason too.

A fire burned in her chest. A fire that both terrified her and compelled her to lean into him and take everything he would give her. She trembled with the force of these strange emotions. t"Shona." He lifted his hand to gently tilt her chin up and caress her cheek. His breath teased her lips and his nose touched hers briefly. t"Aye," she responded.tHis masculine scent and that of spices from the mulled wine stole her thoughts. When his lips touched hers like a light brush of silk, she was ensnared and her breath remained trapped in her chest. Some instinct within her surged to the surface and she pressed her lips firmly against his.

God save him, she smelled of a field of roses and tasted sweeter than port wine.tDrawing her hands over her mouth Charlotte gasped. “Hugh. How did we end up on the bed?”t“I think we must have floated,” he whispered.

Steeling her resolve, she stepped further into the study. “Regardless if I have your blessing, I have made up my mind. I love Hugh Maclain. It is he whom I will wed.”tPap guzzled the remaining dregs. Slamming the bottle to the table with a belch, his gaze wandered to the hearth rather than to Charlotte. “No.” He drew the word out and it hung in the air and chilled like death. “You cannot marry a corpse.

He pulled her into his arms. Closing his eyes, he savored every inch of her small frame. God, why did she have to be the daughter of the Governor of Fort William? Why could she not be a simple lass from his clan. “Och, mo leannan, what am I to do with you?”tShe took in a stilted gasp. “Love me.

She held her finger to his lips. “We have a lifetime to reveal our secrets.”tIn a bold move, she took his hand and led him to the bed.tEver so eager to follow, Hugh’s mouth suddenly went dry. Hell, he couldn’t even manage a swallow. “Are you ready, my love?” he croaked.tLicking those delectable lips, she nodded. “I want you more than the air I breathe.

Would you like to see where I will build your house, m’lady?”tShe grinned. “You mean our house?”tHe mirrored her smile. “Aye.”tTaking her hand, he led her along the path to the mouth of the River Coe. They stood on a curved peninsula high above the river where it would be free from floods. Hugh spread his arms wide and looked across Loch Leven. “The hills of Glencoe will be our backdrop, the river of the Coe will be our music, and our galleys will sail through the water of the Leven to Loch Linnhe and out to sea. Mark me, my love, Clan Iain Abrach will rebuild, and will once again rule these lands.”tHe looked into her eyes and saw joy there. “And you will be my queen.

Our glass train, on fragile tracksBeneath bombs that fall like the floodTo wash away the shards—But all this sorrow will recedeAnd we will leaveTwo by twoAnd until then, I will only think of you.

Perhaps... Perhaps he could make her happy. Not with the Granville money or his social cachet, but just by being the man he was, at his core. Sometimes, when he looked deep into those blue eyes, it felt like anything was possible.

You should not have kissed me," she replied breathlessly."I do a lot of things I shouldn't. It does not mean I won't do them again.

Her beloved lunatic needed her–whether he knew it or not. Whatever it took, she was not leaving without him.

... but we’ll be back for dinner … especially if you’re having soup de jour!”“Now, Troy! You know very well that soup de jour means ‘soup of the day.’ It changes every time!

Yes, and you did it spectacularly. They were the best non words ever not spoken.

Helen likes Brussels sprouts. How can anyone trust her opinion?

Love was like a stock, Lizzie realized. You gambled on its paying off in the long run—but it could just as easily cost you everything.

He kissed her temple. "Would you read to me?"t"You wouldn't grow bored?"t"Not if you were reading, my love."tHelen slipped off the bed, tiptoed into the main chamber and retrieved the book from the table. When she returned, Eoin had situated the candelabra to provide good light, and arranged the pillows for comfort.tHow wonderful it was to be with a man who actually cared enough to do simple things like fluffing the pillows.tHe opened his arms and beckoned her to him. "Come and tell me what this story's about."t"It would be my pleasure, sir knight." Helen climbed up and snuggled into his arms. She opened the cover and read the title. "'The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle'." She looked at Eoin and grinned. "The story begins when the mystical knight, Sir Gromer Somer Joure, challenges King Arthur to discover what women desire most, or face dire consequences."tHe rested his chin on her shoulder and peered at the pages. "You have me entranced already.

I love stepping back in time

Frances McCarthy

Strange how a tiny hand could make the weight of his new responsibilities feel like a boulder on his chest.

Margaret Mallory

The first time Christina and Lachlan Meet ...Christina wasn't about to stop fighting—not until she took her last breath. Boring down with her heels, she thrashed. "Get off me, ye brute." She would hold her son in her arms this day if it was the last thing she did. And by the shift of the crushing weight on her chest, she only had moments before her life's breath completely whooshed from her lungs. The very thought of dying whilst her son was still held captive infused her with strength. With a jab, she slammed the heel of her hand across the man's chin. He flew from her body like a sack of grain. Praises be, had the Lord granted her with superhuman strength? Blinking, Christina sat up. No, no. Her strike hadn't rescued her from the pillager. A champion had. A behemoth of a man pummeled the pikeman's face with his fists. "Never. Ever." His fists moved so fast they blurred. "Harm. A. Woman!" Bloodied and battered, the varlet dropped to the dirt. A swordsman attacked her savior from behind. "Watch out," she cried, but before the words left her lips the warrior spun to his feet. Flinging his arm backward, he grabbed his assailant's wrist, stopped the sword midair and flipped the cur onto his back. Onward, he fought a rush of English attackers with his bare hands, without armor. Not even William Wallace himself had been so talented. This warrior moved like a cat, anticipating his opponent's moves before they happened. Five enemy soldiers lay on their backs. "Quickly," the man shouted, running toward her, his feet bare. No sooner had she rolled to her knees than his powerful arms clamped around her. The wind whipped beneath her feet. He planted her bum in the saddle. "Behind!" Christina screamed, every muscle in her body clenching taut. Throwing back an elbow, the man smacked an enemy soldier in the face resulting in a sickening crack. She picked up her reins and dug in her heels. "Whoa!" The big man latched onto the skirt of her saddle and hopped behind her, making her pony's rear end dip. But the frightened galloway didn't need coaxing. He galloped away from the fight like a deer running from a fox. Christina peered around her shoulder at the mass of fighting men behind them. "My son!" "Do you see him?" the man asked in the strangest accent she'd ever heard. She tried to turn back, but the man's steely chest stopped her. "They took him." "Who?" "The English, of course." The more they talked, the further from the border the galloway took them. "Huh?" the man mumbled behind her like he'd been struck in the head by a hammer. Everyone for miles knew the Scots and the English were to exchange a prisoner that day. The champion's big palm slipped around her waist and held on—it didn't hurt like he was digging in his fingers, but he pressed firm against her. The sensation of such a powerful hand on her body was unnerving. It had been eons since any man had touched her, at least gently. The truth? Aside from the brutish attack moments ago, Christina's life had been nothing but chaste. White foam leached from the pony's neck and he took in thunderous snorts. He wouldn't be able to keep this pace much longer. Christina steered him through a copse of trees and up the crag where just that morning she'd stood with King Robert and Sir Boyd before they'd led the Scottish battalion into the valley. There, she could gain a good vantage point and try to determine where the backstabbing English were heading with Andrew this time. At the crest of the outcropping, she pulled the horse to a halt. "The pony cannot keep going at this pace." The man's eyebrows slanted inward and he gave her a quizzical stare. Good Lord, his tempest-blue eyes pierced straight through her soul. "Are you speaking English?

Blessed desire gripped her nether parts as her passion inflamed. Helen shamelessly rocked her hips from side to side. "My, you have turned me into a wanton woman."t"And that's a bad thing?" His voice grew deeper with each word.

Indulge me this once, Meg. Her name was a whisper on his lips. Soft. Seductive. Meanwhile his eyes gleamed mischievously, daring her to say yes.

There was no denying it; his wicked words thrilled her. Like a feather slowly brushing over her bare skin, they teased and tantalized, awakening every inch of her body.

I particularly want you to meet Miss Bucholtz.” The very idea made him uneasy. “Why is that,Ma’am?” he bluntly asked. Mrs. Morgan hesitated. “Keep this under your hat, mind you.” “Yes, Ma’am.” She let out a tired sigh. “I’ve brought Miss Bucholtz to replace Mr. Gabellini.” Howie pictured a dried up old spinster with the same commanding presence as Mrs. Morgan, a real battle-axe. “Fireworks are coming. Are you sure a woman is the right, uh, person for the job?” “Bertha Bucholz is one of the best cooks I know. I guarantee by this time next month, you men will all be sporting five extra pounds.

Cole stilled when his feral eyes found her, roaming every inch as though searching for a wound. The doorway framed him like a portal to purgatory, and he stood like an avenging archangel come to wreak a wrath no less than biblical. The swells of his powerful chest heaved against the white of his shirtsleeves now blotched and stained with blood. The blade on his prosthesis was extended past the motionless metal fingers, and blood dripped from it into a thick crimson puddle on the marble floor.

A woman’s lust is addictive ," he murmured, marveling at the wetness coating his fingers as he stroked her. She trembled and her breath hitched in response. "It inspires a man to touch and to taste.

Alexandra Hawkins

She sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for a civilized bathroom.” Howie remained silent out of habit and also because he didn’t know what a civilized bathroom was.

He hated having to look for a new girl, a new spy to add to his band of fallen women. Yes, it was an opportunity to spare her before her ruin could be known, but a deep part of him hurt for the women in his employ and what they’d all endured.

Madeline Martin

A large man with wild blond hair gripped hr horse’s reins, drawing her steed to a stop.t“Welcome to hell.” Though he presented a jovial grin, his words shot straight to her gut.t“Enough, Murdoch,” Sylvi said in a warning tone.tThe man shrugged his shoulders. “Ach, I’m just toying with the new lasses. “I’ll no’ be here long to share my winning personality.

Madeline Martin

With the way Bertha can cook and her good-natured personality, she’ll be married in no time. We’ll see to it!” She cast a speculative glance around. “Why I see ten available men within a hundred feet of us. ... Bertha will manage just fine…“ I hope.

A job isn’t ‘till death do us part…

I falter in the doorway, swept with memories of my reckless behavior last time I saw him. I sipped wine from a bottle. I kissed him. And as my pulse flutters with excitement, I know I would do it again, given the chance.

Meghan Masterson

What to make of this man? He was proper. He was passionate. He had the public demeanor of an iceberg, but he kissed her as if she were his oasis in a vast, arid d

There was a moment of tenderness between them, and for a moment he experienced the most rare, ridiculous emotion- hope.

Temperance Dews stood with quiet confidence, a respectable women who lived in the sewer that was St. Giles. Her eyes had widened at the sight of Lazarus, but she made no move to flee. Indeed, finding a strange man in her pathetic sitting room seemed not to frighten her at all.Interesting.“I am Lazarus Huntington, Lord Caire,” he said.“I know. What are you doing here?”He tilted his head, studying her. She knew him, yet did not recoil in horror? Yes, she’d do quite well. “I’ve come to make a proposition to you, Mrs. Dews.”Still no sign of fear, though she eyed the doorway. “You’ve chosen the wrong woman, my lord. The night is late. Please leave my house.”No fear and no deference to his rank. An interesting woman indeed.“My proposition is not, er, illicit in nature,” he drawled. “In fact, it’s quite respectable. Or nearly so.”She sighed, looked down at her tray, and then back up at him. “Would you like a cup of tea?”He almost smiled. Tea? When had he last been offered something so very prosaic by a woman? He couldn’t remember.But he replied gravely enough. “Thank you, no.”She nodded. “Then if you don’t mind?”He waved a hand to indicate permission.She set the tea tray on the wretched little table and sat on the padded footstool to pour herself a cup. He watched her. She was a monochromatic study. Her dress, bodice, hose, and shoes were all flat black. A fichu tucked in at her severe neckline, an apron, and cap—no lace or ruffles—were all white. No color marred her aspect, making the lush red of her full lips all the more startling. She wore the clothes of a nun, yet had the mouth of a sybarite.The contrast was fascinating—and arousing.“You’re a Puritan?” he asked.Her beautiful mouth compressed. “No.

Oh, the way he was looking at her, really looking at her . . . this was the Christopher of her dreams. This was the man who had written to her. He was so caring, and real, and dazzling, that she wanted to weep.“I thought . . .” Christopher broke off and drew his thumb over the hot surface of her cheek.“I know,” she whispered, her nerves sparking in excitement at his touch.“I didn’t mean to do that.”“I know.”His gaze went to her parted lips, lingering until she felt it like a caress. Her heart labored to supply blood to her nerveless limbs. Every breath caused her body to lift up against his, a teasing friction of firm flesh and clean, warm linen.Beatrix was transfixed by the subtle changes in his face, the heightening color, the silver brightness of his eyes.She wondered if he were going to kiss her.And a single word flashed through her mind.Please. . .

I’ll never leave you. I’ll never mistreat you. I think you know that by now. Try with me. Let us find what we may find.”“What do you expect to find, Robert?”“How should I know? I’ve never experienced anything like this before in my life.” Tears shone briefly under her graceful long lashes before she blinked them away and glanced at him again with a reluctant twist of a smile. Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around her bent knees and sighed.“You are asking us both to set ourselves up for great hurt when it comes time for me to leave.”“Leave? Don’t speak of leaving, angel. You must stay forever.”“As your mistress.”“As my love,” he countered insistently.

Before Christina could stop herself, her gaze dipped lower. Holy saints, the outline of his manhood stretched the cloth taut. She’d never seen a man so well endowed. Taking a deep breath, she pressed her hand against her forehead and tried not to swoon while she forced herself to snap her gaze to his face. “They’re braies, not box-ers.” She bent down, picked up his blue ones and held them up. “Ye ken?”tt“Right, bra-ie-s,” he said as if it were a new word for him. “How do you keep them up?

I'll be fine. It's just hard to love somebody who doesn't love you back," Fallon answered.

Marcia Lynn McClure

God, you’re beautiful,” he growled while his cock throbbed with need.t“Ye keep telling me that and ye’ll have me believing it,” she said with the sexiest, most breathless voice he’d ever heard.tHis fingers sank into her supple flesh. Her breasts were so full, so pliable, he craved to have his mouth on them, craved to suckle her nipples and listen to every soft moan. “You’d best believe me, because whenever you’re near, I feel like a caveman.”t“A wild beast?”tHe nearly roared. “The wildest imaginable.

The engorged moon hung full and low in the sky like a yellow skull. Misshapen clouds stretched across the floating orb with elongated hands and bony fingers grasping. As they neared the docks, the gas lamps grew fewer and the streets gloomier. The cobblestones blackened as they passed the deserted brickfields. Bottle-shaped kilns spat their outrage with orange tongues of fire into the cooling air. Mangy dogs snarled in hunger and wandering sea-gulls screamed their displeasure at the hansom’s passage.

Brian S. Ference

I know you do not think very highly of me, but in some circles, I'm quite the thing.

Rory did not want her.tAfter devoting so much effort to avoid being wed to a man she did not want, she found herself bound to a man who did not want her.

Margaret Mallory

A hot romp is timeless ...

His brothers accepted his fluid nature as something Darian simply was. He had been so all his life; suspended between male and female, one rising, the other ebbing without pattern or reason. The Queen, daughterless and doting, had gladly let her youngest sonwear gowns, bows, and curls far longer than appropriate, until his father had intervened with violent persuasion. At court, he now moved as a man. In private, he never stopped wearing gowns or ribbons when the softer she inside him waxed like the full moon. He allowed her complete rein. In truth, he no longer knew where he ended and she began. They were the same.

The pulse visible in the pale column of her neck vibrated faster, her intoxicating scent washed over him, and he was dizzy with lust. Even through his mail and gambeson, he could feel her womanly curves crushed against his hard chest. He uncurled his fingers from her throat and ran the tough leather of his palm’s mitten along her neck and to the enticing curve of her shoulder. He nudged her mantle an inch, exposing skin. He cursed that his hand was covered in mail. How long had he wanted to taste, to touch her precious skin? Unable to resist, he bent and, with his tongue, touched, tasted the heat of the skin on her collarbone. Oh, Christ, she was lovely. She shivered, and satisfaction roared through him.

His heat, his erotic pull—she could feel it. A weird, pulsing, virtual pull tugging at her skin, her nerve endings. Made her want to…touch. Made her want. The more she resisted the urge, the stronger it became. It would be a relief, really. To just…touch. One little touch. Just one.

Her pinkie took matters into its own, er, pinkie, and moved oh-so-slightly, grazing his skin. His pinkie, judging by the shape and texture. Blood rushed and pounded through her veins, flushing her skin. This could not, in any way, be explained as an accidental touch. But he could feign sleep if he wasn’t interested. Did she want him to do that? What was she doing? She commanded her pinkie to drop, and thankfully, it obeyed. A jolt shot through her as his finger made a query, and the need clarified. The need represented her desire for some measure of control. Control over her general situation. Control over her attraction. She answered with a gentle finger stroke along his calloused, warm skin. A sharp breath pierced the dark air.

He leaned his head against the rock. Christ, when was the last time he’d seen the humor in life? And now, of all places, in an enemy camp, with a strange woman who made him burn. Burn with desire. Burn with need. A desire and need not only for her and her body, but for something he couldn’t quite name.

She flapped her hands, anxious energy coursing through her. “How can you be so calm?” He got to his feet, unfolding with an easy grace. He held out a hand, his dark eyes focused solemnly on hers. “Come with me.” “For what?” “That’s part of the lesson.” Was it her imagination, or did a twinkle of humor stir in those eyes? “Center yourself, and grab onto the here and now.” That made no sense—what was he now, Sir Medieval Zen Master? But she slipped her hand into his strong, calloused one. He hauled her up until she bumped into his chest. With a finger under her chin, he tilted her face until she looked in his eyes. “Listen to the world around you. Hear the birds? Hear the small animals scurrying? You are in this moment, this moment only, and sometimes that’s all you can do, all you can be.” His finger pulled away, brushing against her skin, and he tapped her nose, stepping away.

She led them to their pallets, again encircled by other pallets. She sat down, sighing at her aching muscles, and caught his gaze. “You may, er, wrap your arms around me if that will make you feel I am safer.” He chuckled--a hoarse chuckle, rusty, but a chuckle nonetheless. She’d take it. “May I indeed?” He lay beside her and pulled her back against him, settling her head on his arm, bunching the other hide up to use as a pillow. “If I must.” His warm sigh tickled across her neck. “After all, I must ensure that pinkie does not wander.” Would Robert never let her forget that?

He clutched her to him with a desperate strength that almost hurt. "I will love you for your light, if you can love me through the dark times. And that love will be like the clear night sky when the moon is full. Not like the sun....but beautiful and bright enough to find our way.

Though we are not together in body, know that I will always be with you in spirit. I will be in the whistling wind and in your dreams. Think of me in the joy of watching snow fall and know that I am thinking of you always.

When she straightened, he leaned back in the chair, his eyelids heavy. “My God, woman, you know how to make a man melt.

He hadn’t landed on the battlefield to save Christina, at least not entirely. He’d landed there because it was meant to be – because his destiny lay with a bonny woman who would capture his heart and show him honor and respect on a uniquely deep level that had been lost in the twenty-first century.

When their lips finally met, all the pent up emotion within Christina’s breast surged, funneling into a whirlwind of heat. Pushing away all thoughts, she allowed herself only to feel. Lachlan could be so physical, so powerful, so brutal, but when he wrapped his arms around her, Christina felt invincible. Be it true or nay, she felt loved, and cherished, and valued. Reaching up, she slid her fingers through his locks. Soft waves of thick tresses contrasted with hardened male….tAs his kiss eased, he cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. “I wish I could hold you in my arms forever.

He had years of experience and training. She'd unraveled them in a week, and he was left at loose ends. This distraction, this madness of desire and yearning- it was everything a man in his position needed to avoid. On second thought, perhaps his senses hadn't been muddled. After all, they had been meticulously attuned to detect the slightest hint of peril.This woman- this beautiful, unbiddable, all-too-perceptive woman- was his personal embodiment of danger. She could ruin him. Destroy everything he'd worked to become.And she would do it all with a smile.

My mum always taught that the truth will set you free.”t“Did she now?”t“Mm hmm,” Lachlan brushed the pad of his pointer finger over her cheek’s silken skin. “But she kept one truth hidden from me until very recently.”t“What was that?”tHe gulped. “You know the truth thing on the medallion?t“Aye.”t“Well, if that’s my rallying cry, then it will mean the world to me if you trust that I’m not lying.”tShe let the disk drop back to his chest. “Ye can tell me anything, I’d reckon.”tHe needed to tell her the truth. “My father is – was William Wallace.

He took a step back to distance himself from her wicked, mind-consuming scent. In the future if he wanted to bamboozle an opponent in the karate ring, all he had to do was splash on some eau de Christina.

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