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Quote by Lisa Kleypas

“The dreamlike feeling intensified. The two of them were kneeling in a summer garden, the air weighted with the perfume of hot crushed grass and scarlet poppies... and Catherine Marks was in his arms. Her hair shimmered in the sunlight, her skin petal-soft. Her upper lip was nearly as full as the lower, the curves as delicate and smooth as a ripe persimmon.”

Quote by Lisa Kleypas

Work

Married by Morning

This novel delves into the lives of characters navigating societal expectations and personal desires amidst the backdrop of early 19th-century romance and social norms. more

Author

Lisa Kleypas
Lisa Kleypas

Lisa Kleypas, born in 1964, is a renowned American romance novel author. Her works are known for their delicate emotional descriptions and captivating storylines, which have won the hearts of numerous readers. more

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“Why did you come back?" she asked weakly. He stared directly into her eyes. "You know why." Before Catherine could stop herself, her gaze dropped to the fine contours of his mouth. "Cat... we have to talk about what happened." "I don't know what you mean." He inclined his head slightly. "Would you like me to remind you?" "No, no..." She shook her head for emphasis. "No." His lips twitched. ""One 'no' is enough, darling." Darling? Filled with anxiety, Catherine fought to keep her voice steady. "I thought I made it clear that I wanted to ignore what happened." "And you expect that will make it go away?" "Yes, that's what one does with mistakes," she said with difficulty. "One sets them aside and moves on." "Really?" Leo asked innocently. "My mistakes are usually so enjoyable that I tend to repeat them." Catherine wondered what was wrong with her that she was tempted to smile. "This one will not be repeated." "Ah, there's the governess voice. All stern and disapproving. It makes me feel like a naughty schoolboy.”

“Stop this. You're amusing yourself at my expense, as usual. You are a dissipated scoundrel, an unprincipled cad, and-" "Don't forget 'lecherous libertine,'" he said. "That's one of my favorites." "Get out!" He pushed away lazily from the dressing table. "All right. I'll go. Obviously you fear that if I stay, you won't be able to control your desire for me." "The only desire I have for you," she said, "involves maiming and dismemberment." Leo grinned and went to the door. Pausing at the threshold, he glanced over his shoulder. "Your spectacles are fogging again," he said helpfully, and slipped through the door before she could find something to throw.”

“You know I'll never marry," he said. Marks's voice came from the corner. She was perched on a small chair, a sunbeam glancing off her fair hair and causing dust motes to glitter around her. "Just as well, since no rational woman would have you." Leo took up the challenge without hesitation. "A rational woman..." he mused aloud. "I don't believe I've ever met one of those." "How would you know if you did?" she asked. "You wouldn't be interested in her character. You would be far too busy examining her... her..." "Her what?" he prompted. "Her dress measurements," she finally said, and he laughed at her prudishness. "Is it really so impossible for you to name ordinary body parts, Marks? Breasts, hips, legs- why is it indecent to talk about the human anatomy in a straightforward manner?" Her eyes narrowed. "Because it leads to improper thoughts." Leo smirked at her. "Mine already are." "Well, mine aren't," she said. "And I would prefer them to remain that way." His brows lifted. "You don't have improper thoughts?" "Hardly ever." "But when you do, what are they?" She gave him an indignant glance. "Have I ever been involved in your improper thoughts?" Leo persisted, causing her face to flame. "I told you I didn't have any," she protested. "No, you said 'hardly ever.' Which means one or two are rattling around in there." Amelia broke in. "Leo, stop tormenting her." Leo barely heard her, his attention fixed on Catherine. "I wouldn't think badly of you at all if you did," he said. "In fact, I'd like you much better for it." "No doubt you would," Catherine shot back. "You probably prefer women with no virtues at all." "Virtue in a woman is like pepper in the soup. A little makes for a nice seasoning. But overdo it, and no one wants very much of you.”

“Do you have any of Beatrix's drawings?" "On the last page," Catherine said. "She began to sketch a protruding section of the wall, over there, but she became preoccupied with a squirrel that kept hopping into the foreground." Leo found a perfectly rendered and detailed portrait of a squirrel. He shook his head. "Beatrix and her animals." They exchanged a grin. "Many people talk to their pets," Catherine said. "Yes, but very few understand the replies.”

“When my mother fell ill, my father felt it as a great burden. He paid a woman to look after her until the end, and sent me away to live with my aunt and grandmother, and I never heard from him again. He may be dead, for all I know." "I'm sorry," Leo said. And he was. Genuinely sorry, wishing he could somehow have gone back in time to comfort a small girl in spectacles, who had been abandoned by the man who should have protected her. "Not all men are like that," he felt the need to point out. "I know. It would hardly be fair of me to blame the entire male population for my father's sins." Leo became uncomfortably aware that his own behavior hadn't been any better than her father's, that he had indulged in his own bitter grief to the point of abandoning his sisters. "No wonder you've always hated me," he said. "I must remind you of him, I deserted my sisters when they needed me." Catherine gave him a clear-eyed stare, not pitying, not censorious, just... appraising. "No," she said sincerely. "You're not at all like him. You came back to your family. You've worked for them, cared for them. And I've never hated you." Leo stared at her closely, more than a little surprised by the revelation. "You haven't?" "No. In fact-" She broke off abruptly. "In fact?" Leo prompted. "What were you going to say?" "Nothing." "You were. Something along the lines of liking me against your will." "Certainly not." Catherine said primly, but Leo saw the twitch of a smile at her lips. "Irresistibly attracted by my dashing good looks?" he suggested. "My fascinating conversation?" "No, and no." "Seduced by my brooding glances?" He accompanied this with a waggish swerving of his brows that finally reduced her to laughter. "Yes, it must have been those." Settling back against the pillows, Leo regarded her with satisfaction. What a wonderful laugh she had, light and throaty, as if she had been drinking champagne. And what a problem this could become, this madly inappropriate desire for her. She was becoming real to him, dimensional, vulnerable in ways he had never imagined.”

“Did I hurt you?" she managed to ask, recalling how she had inadvertently pushed on his wounded shoulder. "Does it ache this morning?" Leo hesitated before replying, "No, it eventually eased after you left. But the devil knows it wouldn't take much to start up again." Catherine was overcome with remorse. "I'm so sorry. Should we put a poultice on it?" "A poultice?" he repeated blankly. "On my... oh. We're talking about my shoulder?" She blinked in confusion. "Of course we're talking about your shoulder. What else would we be discussing?" "Cat..." Leo looked away from her. To her surprise, there was a tremor of laughter in his voice. "When a man is aroused and left unsatisfied, he usually aches for a while afterward." "Where?" He gave her a speaking glance. "You mean..." A wild blush raced over her as she finally understood. "Well, I don't care if you ache there, I was only concerned about your wound!" "It's much better," Leo assured her, his eyes bright with amusement. "As for the other ache-" "This has nothing to do with me," she said hastily. "I beg to differ.”

“You should know that I've always wanted you, Cat. I've had fantasies so wicked, it would send us both straight to hell if I told them to you. And the way I want you has nothing to do with the color of your hair, or the appalling fashions you wear." His hand passed gently over her head. "Catherine Marks, or whoever you are... I have the most profane desire to be in bed with you for... oh, weeks, at least... committing every mortal sin known to man. I'd like to do more than sketch you naked. I want to draw directly on you with feather and ink... flowers around your breasts, trails of stars down your thighs." He let his warm lips brush the edge of her ear. "I want to map your body, chart the north, south, east, and west of you. I would-" "Don't," she said, scarcely able to breathe. A rueful laugh escaped him. "I told you. Straight to hell." "This is my fault." She pressed her hot face against his shoulder. "I shouldn't have gone to you last night. I don't know why I did it." "I think you do." His mouth grazed the top of her head. "Don't come back to my room at night, Marks. Because if it happens agin, I won't be able to stop.”