Quotessence
Home / Authors / Julia Quinn
Julia Quinn

Julia Quinn Quotes

Author

Filter quotes by topic

Famous Julia Quinn Quotes

“Gareth sucked in a breath. Hyacinth’s brother wasn’t going to make this easy on him. But that didn’t matter. He had vowed to do this right, and he would not be cowed. He looked up, meeting the viscount’s dark eyes with steady purpose. “I would like to marry Hyacinth,” he said. And then, because the viscount did not say anything, because he didn’t even move, Gareth added, “Er, if she’ll have me.” And then about eight things happened at once. Or perhaps there were merely two or three, and it just seemed like eight, because it was all so unexpected. First, the viscount exhaled, although that did seem to understate the case. It was more of a sigh, actually—a huge, tired, heartfelt sigh that made the man positively deflate in front of Gareth. Which was astonishing. Gareth had seen the viscount on many occasions and was quite familiar with his reputation. This was not a man who sagged or groaned. His lips seemed to move through the whole thing, too, and if Gareth were a more suspicious man, he would have thought that the viscount had said, “Thank you, Lord.” Combined with the heavenward tilt of the viscount’s eyes, it did seem the most likely translation. And then, just as Gareth was taking all of this in, Lord Bridgerton let the palms of his hands fall against the desk with surprising force, and he looked Gareth squarely in the eye as he said, “Oh, she’ll have you. She will definitely have you.” It wasn’t quite what Gareth had expected. “I beg your pardon,” he said, since truly, he could think of nothing else. “I need a drink,” the viscount said, rising to his feet. “A celebration is in order, don’t you think?” “Er…yes?” Lord Bridgerton crossed the room to a recessed bookcase and plucked a cut-glass decanter off one of the shelves. “No,” he said to himself, putting it haphazardly back into place, “the good stuff, I think.” He turned to Gareth, his eyes taking on a strange, almost giddy light. “The good stuff, wouldn’t you agree?” “Ehhhh…” Gareth wasn’t quite sure what to make of this. “The good stuff,” the viscount said firmly. He moved some books to the side and reached behind to pull out what looked to be a very old bottle of cognac. “Have to keep it hidden,” he explained, pouring it liberally into two glasses. “Servants?” Gareth asked. “Brothers.” He handed Gareth a glass. “Welcome to the family.”

“You know all of the young gentlemen better than I do,” Lady Manston continued. “Are there any we should avoid?” All of them, George wanted to say. ''What about Ashbourne’s son?'' “No.” “No?” his mother echoed. “No, as in you don’t have an opinion?” “No, as in no. He is not for Billie.” Who, George could not help but note, was watching the mother-son exchange with an odd mix of curiosity and alarm. “Any particular reason?” Lady Manston asked. “He gambles,” George lied. Well, maybe it wasn’t a lie. All gentlemen gambled. He had no idea if the one in question did so to excess. “What about the Billington heir? I think he —” “Also no.” His mother regarded him with an impassive expression. “He’s too young,” George said, hoping it was true. “He is?” She frowned. “I suppose he might be. I can’t remember precisely.”

“What are you smiling about?” she asked. He drew back a few inches, cupping her face with both hands. “How did you know I was smiling?” “I could feel it on my lips.” He brought a finger to those lips, tracing the outline, then running the edge of his fingernail along the plump skin. “You make me smile,” he whispered. “When you don’t make me want to scream, you make me smile.” -Sophie & Benedict”

“You stopped,” she whispered, looking surprised. “This isn’t the place,” he replied. For a moment her face showed no change of expression. Then, almost as if someone were pulling a shade over her face, horror dawned. It started in her eyes, which grew impossibly round and somehow even more green than usual, then it reached her mouth, her lips parting as a gasp of air rushed in. “I didn’t think,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “I know.” He smiled. “I know. I hate it when you think. It always ends badly for me.” “We can’t do this again.” “We certainly can’t do it here.” “No, I mean—” “You’re spoiling it.” “But—” “Humor me,” he said, “and let me believe the afternoon ended without your telling me this will never happen again.” “But—” He pressed a finger to her lips. “You’re not humoring me.” “But—” “Don’t I deserve this one little fantasy?” At last, he broke through. She smiled. “Good,” he said. “That’s more like it.” Her lips quivered, then, amazingly, her smile grew. “Excellent,” he murmured. “Now then, I’m going to leave. And you have only one task while I go. You will stay right here, and you will keep smiling. Because it breaks my heart to see any other expression on your face.” “You won’t be able to see me,” she pointed out. He touched her chin. “I’ll know.” And then, before her expression could change from that enchanting combination of shock and adoration, he left. -Sophie & Benedict”

“You have a freckle,” he murmured. “Right” – he leaned down and dropped a light kiss near the inside of her elbow – “here.” “You’ve seen it before,” she said softly. It wasn’t in an immodest spot; she had plenty of frocks with short sleeves. He chuckled. “But I’ve never given it it’s proper due.” “Really.” “Mmm-hmm.” He lifted her arm, twisting it just a bit so that he could pretend to be studying her freckle. “It is clearly the most delightful beauty mark in all of England.” A marvelous sense of warmth and contentment melted through her. Even as her body burned for his, she could not stop herself from encouraging his teasing conversation. “Only England?” “Well, I haven’t traveled very extensively abroad…” “Oh, really?” “And you know…” His voice dropped to a husky growl. “There may be other freckles right here in this room. You could have one here.” He dipped a finger under the bodice of her nightgown, then moved his other hand to her hip. “Or here.” “I might,” she agreed. “The back of your knee,” he said, the words hot against her ear . “You could have one there.” She nodded. She wasn’t sure she was still capable of speech. “One of your toes,” he suggested. “Or your back.” “You should probably check,” she managed to get out. He took a deep, shuddering breath.”

“He murmured her name, tenderly taking her face in his hands. “I love you,” he said, his voice low and fervent. “I love you with everything I am, everything I’ve been, and everything I hope to be.” “I love you with my past, and I love you for my future.” He bent forward and kissed her, once, softly, on the lips. “I love you for the children we’ll have and for the years we’ll have together. I love you for every one of my smiles, and even more, for every one of your smiles.”

“Miss Bridgerton,” he said, “the devil himself couldn’t scare you.” She forced her eyes to meet his. “That’s not a compliment, is it?” He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a feather-light kiss across her knuckles. “You’ll have to figure that out for yourself,” he murmured. To all who observed, he was the soul of propriety, but Hyacinth caught the daring gleam in his eye, and she felt the breath leave her body as tingles of electricity rushed across her skin. Her lips parted, but she had nothing to say, not a single word. There was nothing but air, and even that seemed in short supply. And then he straightened as if nothing had happened and said, “Do let me know what you decide.” She just stared at him. “About the compliment,” he added. “I am sure you will wish to let me know how I feel about you.” Her mouth fell open. He smiled. Broadly. “Speechless, even. I’m to be commended.” “You—” “No. No,” he said, lifting one hand in the air and pointing toward her as if what he really wanted to do was place his finger on her lips and shush her. “Don’t ruin it. The moment is too rare.”

“You have a minute and a half left." "Fine," she snapped. "Then I'll reduce this conversation to one single fact. Today I had six callers. Six! Can you recall the last time I had six callers?" Anthony just stared at her blankly. "I can't," Daphne continued, in fine form now. "Because it has never happened. Six men marched up our steps, knocked on our door, and gave Humboldt their cards. Six men brought me flowers, engaged me in conversation, and one even recited poetry." Simon winced. "And do you know why?" she demanded, her voice rising dangerously. "Do you?" Anthony, in his somewhat belatedly arrived wisdom, held his tongue. "It is all because he"—she jabbed her forefinger toward Simon—"was kind enough to feign interest in me last night at Lady Danbury's ball.”

“He turned to her. “Didn’t you see the lightning strike the steeple?” She recovered with a sip of tea, then smiled sweetly. “I was listening too devotedly to the sermon.” “Claptrap last week,” Lady D announced. “I think the priest is getting old.” Gareth opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, his grandmother’s cane swung around in a remarkably steady horizontal arc. “Don’t,” she warned, “make a comment beginning with the words, ‘Coming from you…’” “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he demurred. “Of course you would,” she stated. “You wouldn’t be my grandson if you wouldn’t.” She turned to Hyacinth. “Don’t you agree?” To her credit, Hyacinth folded her hands in her lap and said, “Surely there is no right answer to that question.” “Smart girl,” Lady D said approvingly. “I learn from the master.” Lady Danbury beamed.”

“She’d ceased spying upon him, that was true, but the damage was done. Every time he sat at his desk, he could feel her eyes upon him, even though he knew very well she’d shut her curtains tight. But clearly, reality had very little to do with the matter, because all he had to do, it seemed, was glance at her window, and he lost an entire hour’s work. It happened thus: He looked at the window, because it was there, and he couldn’t very well never happen to glance upon it unless he also shut his curtains tight, which he was not willing to do, given the amount of time he spent in his office. So he saw the window, and he thought of her, because, really, what else would he think of upon seeing her bedroom window? At that point, annoyance set in, because A) she wasn’t worth the energy, B) she wasn’t even there, and C) he wasn’t getting any work done because of her. C always led into a bout of even deeper irritation, this time directed at himself, because D) he really ought to have better powers of concentration, E) it was just a stupid window, and F) if he was going to get agitated about a female, it ought to be one he at least liked. F was where he generally let out a loud growl and forced himself to get back to his translation. It usually worked for a minute or two, and then he’d look back up, and happen to see the window, and the whole bloody nonsense cycled back to the beginning.”

“Guilty?” George’s face betrayed his surprise. “Whatever for?” “That neither of your brothers ever offered for me.” Another thing she probably should not have said. But as it happened, Billie did think that Lady Manston felt this way. And when George’s expression slid from curiosity to something that might have been jealousy… well, Billie could not help but feel a little pleased. “So I think she’s trying to make it up to me,” she said gamely. “It’s not as if I was waiting for one of them to ask me, but I think she thinks I was, so now she wants to introduce me —” “Enough,” George practically barked. “I beg your pardon?” He cleared his throat. “Enough,” he said in a much more evenly tempered voice. “It’s ridiculous.” “That your mother feels this way?” “That she thinks introducing you to a pack of useless fops is a sensible idea.” Billie took a moment to enjoy this statement.”

“Mother,” Hyacinth said, pausing for slightly longer than normal to steal a bit of time to organize her thoughts, “I am not going to chase after Mr. St. Clair. He’s not at all the right sort of man for me.” “I’m not certain you’d know the right sort of man for you if he arrived on our doorstep riding an elephant.” “I would think the elephant would be a fairly good indication that I ought to look elsewhere.”

“He wasn’t certain how this woman had come to mean so much to him. It seemed that one day she was a stranger, and the next she was as indispensable as air. And yet it hadn’t happened in a blinding flash. It had been a slow, sneaky process, quietly coloring his emotions until he realized that without her, his life lacked all meaning. -Benedict's thoughts about Sophie”

“You can’t marry her,” Araminta insisted. Benedict turned to his mother. “Is there any reason I need to consult Lady Penwood about this?” “None that I can think of,” Lady Bridgerton replied. “She is nothing but a whore,” Araminta hissed. “Her mother was a whore, and blood runs— urp!” Benedict had her by the throat before anyone was even aware that he had moved. “Don’t,” he warned, “make me hit you.” The magistrate tapped Benedict on the shoulder. “You really ought to let her go.” “Might I muzzle her?” The magistrate looked torn, but eventually he shook his head.”

“Oh, for the love of God,” Benedict snarled. “Will you let go of her or will I have to shoot your damned hand off?” Benedict wasn’t even holding a gun, but the tone of his voice was such that the man let go instantly. “Good,” Benedict said, holding his arm out toward the maid. She stepped forward, and with trembling fingers placed her hand on his elbow. “You can’t just take her!” Phillip yelled. Benedict gave him a supercilious look. “I just did.” “You’ll be sorry you did this,” Phillip said. “I doubt it. Now get out of my sight.” Phillip made a huffy sound, then turned his friends and said, “Let’s get out of here.” Then he turned to Benedict and added, “Don’t think you shall ever receive another invitation to one of my parties.” “My heart is breaking,” Benedict drawled.”

“It was remarkable, but every time he kissed her, her lips seemed to grow sweeter, her scent more beguiling. And his need grew, too. His blood was racing with desire, and it was taking his every last shred of restraint not to push her back onto the sofa and tear her clothes from her body. That would come later, he thought with a secret smile. But this— surely her first time— would be slow and tender and everything a young girl dreamed. Well, maybe not. His smile turned into an outright grin. Half the things he was going to do to her, she wouldn’t have even thought to dream about.”

“But there she was, standing next to his mother, so beautiful, so radiant that he could not see anyone else. Suddenly the rest of the world seemed like such a chore. He didn’t want to be here at this dance, with people he didn’t want to talk to and messages he didn’t particularly wish to deliver. He didn’t want to dance with young ladies he didn’t know, and he didn’t want to make polite conversation with people he did. He just wanted Billie, and he wanted her all to himself. He forgot about Tallywhite. He forgot about pease, porridge, and pudding, and he stalked across the room with such single-minded purpose that the crowds seemed to melt from his path. And somehow, amazingly, the rest of the world had not yet noticed her. She was so beautiful, so uncommonly alive and real in this room full of waxen dolls. She would not go undiscovered for long. But not yet. Soon he would have to fight the throngs of eager young gentlemen, but for now, she was still his alone.”

“Well, I don't care," she announced. "I just don't care that he isn't offering a reward. In fact, I'm glad I'm much happier here than I was with any of my guardians." "I would be, too," Blake said wryly, "If Perriwick and Mrs. Mickle treated me this way." Caroline turned to him with a wicked smile, the urge to tease him too strong to ignore. "Now, now, don't get snippy because your servants like me best." Blake started to say something, then just laughed.”