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“He gently grasped her fingers. To touch her again after a week apart was bliss; heat and the faint hum of a current seemed to work its way up his arm to settle in his belly. His body recognized her immediately as need tore swiftly through him, the need to hold her against him and inhale her sweet scent, to feel the beat of her heart. The gold ring held a rose-cut emerald set in the middle of two matching diamonds with a scrollwork band.”

“I don't care a whit for Society. I think people should only marry someone who can offer them some bit of affection. I am not so naive that I believe in the sort of romantic love and devotion that Miss Austen touts." Though what August had found with the duke seemed very close to that sort of love, and if she was honest, she actually wouldn't mind very much if she found that for herself. But that was far too complicated a subject to discuss with Lord Leigh, a man she should not be talking to at all, much less going on and on like she was. "But there should be some sort of mutual respect and consideration." "Affection is important to you." His gaze dropped down to her mouth. She licked her lips and then pressed them together to stifle the nervous tick. "Affection is important to everyone. People are much happier when they are in family units where they are supported and valued. It has been proven to be true." He grinned, an attractive dimple forming in his left cheek. "You are a bluestocking like your sister." "I read for information as well as entertainment if that's what you mean." She was aware of the way her shoulders stiffened and her voice hardened, but seemed to be able to do nothing to control her reaction to him. Bluestocking held all sorts of negative connotations. She knew she wasn't worldly enough to have someone like him return the depth of her attraction, but she wouldn't have him believing her interest in knowledge to be a mark against her. His grin stayed in place. "That is exactly what I mean, Miss Crenshaw. It is a trait I admire in anyone, especially a woman who courts scandal by the very admission.”

“She could only admire the breadth of his chest, each pectoral muscle clearly defined. Her palms itched to explore them, and she wanted to curl her fingers in the sprinkling of dark hair that narrowed over the flat plains of his belly. There was an indentation bisecting them that she ached to trace. The hair grew denser just below his navel, arrowing toward his low-slung drawers, half-opened now. She gasped when she saw it. The tip of him rose up, thick and pink, protruding over the top of the linen. The ache between her thighs increased, as if knowing he was meant to be inside her to assuage it. He saw her take notice and kept his arms up, fingers laced behind his head, as if basking in her study of him.”

“Guide my hands. I don't wish to hurt you." "Lower," she said when he pressed fingertips to the middle of her back. "Lower," she urged, guiding him downward. "There." He started softly, pressing the pads of his fingers to the muscles he felt. She sighed, a sound that vibrated down his spine, settling with a flickering and tightening heat in his scrotum. He shifted as his blood thickened like honey in his veins. This was too much to ask of him. He was already drunk on arousal and need. It swam through his head like whisky, making his thoughts give way to instinct and consequences appear murky.”

“My dearest Violet, A belated birthday gift along with my regrets for not celebrating as we should have. All my love, C Tears filled her eyes as she touched her chest where the locket rested beneath her clothing. She wore it still because she couldn't forget the morning he had given it to her, nor how she had felt, dumbstruck and silly with her love for him. A terrible but true way to describe the sheer bliss that had surrounded them. Blinking away the tears, she unwrapped the package revealing four books: Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Agnes Gray, and The Tenant of Windfell Hall. A quick examination revealed them to be all first editions. Dropping into the chair, she read his note again two more times. Her finger traced the C. As much as she despised what he had done, she couldn't stop herself from missing him.”

“Lord Lucifer, the name she had chosen to represent Lord Leigh. She could not help the smile that tugged at the corner of her lips as she read the attributes beneath his name. Arrogant and entitled, he exuded wickedness. The whispers she had heard told the story of a man who overindulged himself in sensory pleasure- women, cards, and drink (possibly more). He owned a club with the Duke of Rothschild where all manner of illicit things happed. But it wasn't't only hedonism that she discerned in him. No, there was a danger about him that she couldn't quite understand. As someone who believed herself capable of assessing the character of a person within a matter of minutes, that alone made him very intriguing. It didn't hurt that he was also devilishly handsome. With thick dark hair, pale gray eyes, and cheekbones that could cut glass, she imagined that Lucifer himself would take his form should he deign to set foot upon the earth.”

“Her lush mouth tipped up in a smile, and her brown eyes held a soft golden tint as she observed him. Her pale and flawless complexion glowed with health. She was as fresh and pure as a daisy in a field of manure. That meant he was the manure. No, worse. He was the loutish farmer who would crush her beneath his boot. She deserved better. Guilt dared to raise its unwelcomed head.”

“I'm not sure I can ever repay you, considering I am leaving town for the foreseeable future, but if you have ever need of me, I assure you I will be happy to assist you in any way." The coil of desire that seemed to always possess him in her presence made itself known, tightening deep in his gut. A vision of her on her knees in the carriage repaying him ran through his mind. She was entirely too naive to have meant those words the way his body had taken them. A quick glance at her innocent face assured him that he was every bit the lecher in this scenario. He would not seduce her innocence away from her, not until they were married. That flicker of guilt returned, putting a fine edge of pain on his desire for her. The gossips would have told her that he was not some bastion of virtue. She must know that men like him were to be avoided. He had even heard Lady Helena warn her away. She should have run from him, or at least made him chase her down the pavement, forced to prove his good intentions. But no, she had put her small hand in his and allowed him to help her into his carriage. The wolf leading the innocent astray.”

“I think we might strike up a proper friendship if given the chance." She smiled, looking both shy and eager for his acceptance. He had to look away, lest he reveal how much he wanted her. They could be very good friends. He could see that easily. She was charming and intelligent, with a sensible logic that belied her years. To be fair, she was not at all how he expected she would be. His interest before had been almost purely physical and mercenary- even then something else about her had appealed- but now... at some point during the past couple of days a fondness for her had taken root.”

“Christian was not talking at all. He was reading aloud. "I explained to her that I had no parents. She inquired how long they had been dead; then how old I was, what was my name, whether I could read, write, and sew a little; then she touched my cheek gently with her forefinger, and saying 'She hoped I should be a good child,' dismissed me along with Miss Miller." He was reading Jane Eyre to her!”

“A growth of beard darkened the lower half of his face. His valet would not be pleased if he saw him, but Violet was beyond pleased at the sight. She had never seen a man thus. They were either clean-shaven, or had fully developed beards. There must be some in-between phase, but she had never seen it. In the evenings on their trip, he would sometimes have a light growth that he must have shaved off by himself, because he appeared clean-shaven in the mornings. But this was probably a couple of days' worth. Her fingertips itched to rake over it and feel if it would scrape her skin or be soft to the touch. It made him appear rugged in a way that she found extremely appealing, as if the proper English gentleman had been undone to give way to this man who was far more carnal and raw.”

“Now if only they have a proper bath and hot water, it would be heavenly." His eyes deepened. There was no other way to describe them. They darkened somehow and became more intent and serious. He had given her that same look several times now on the trip, and it never failed to make her breasts feel heavier and an ache began deep within her. "I will make certain of it," he said. A naughty image of him joining her in the bath flitted across her mind. Did people do that, or was she being depraved?”

“Had he read about Lord Lucifer? Did he know the man was him? Had he read the sinful thoughts Miss Hamilton had about him? Violet had written them too honestly and explicitly for publication. She had intended to go back and edit out some of the more wicked lines. They had been little more than girlish fantasies she had set to paper. Those lines came out to torment her now. He was depravity and his name was Lord Lucifer, the dark angel himself come to earth to tempt innocents. Rose had never so wanted to be debauched as when he gazed upon her. And this one: She stared at his mouth, the sensual lips and pink tongue licking at the drop of honey, and she longed to feel him licking at her. Oh, dear God! Neither of those were ever meant to see the light of day. She had written the last one in a heated moment after coming home from a ball where he had eaten a honey-drenched fig.”