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Quote by Stephanie Laurens

“Why are you here?" Her words were a thread of silver in the moonlight. His answer was deep as the deepest shadows. "You offered to be my inamorata, remember?”

Quote by Stephanie Laurens

Work

A Rake's Vow

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Author

Stephanie Laurens
Stephanie Laurens

Stephanie Laurens, born on August 14, 1953, is a British historical fiction author. Her works are set in 18th-century England and depict love, adventure, and the life of the aristocracy of that era. Laurens' novels have been highly popular with readers and have won numerous literary awards. more

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“He'd drawn her as close as propriety allowed; her green skirts swished against his boots. She was all woman, soft and curvaceous, mere inches away; he grew harder simply at the thought. The breeze, wafting past, lifted her perfume to his face- honeysuckle, roses, and that indefinable scent that evoked every hunter's instinct he possessed. Abruptly, he cleared his throat. "Nothing happened last evening?" It was an effort to lift his voice from the gravelly depths to which it had sunk. "Nothing." Patience slanted him a sharp, slightly curious glance. "Distressingly, Edmond and Henry have reverted to their competitive worst. Stolen items, or the disposal of same, seemed exceedingly far from their minds. If either of them are the thief or the Spectre, I'll eat my new bonnet." Vane grimaced. "I don't think your new bonnet's in any danger." He studied the stylish creation perched atop her curls. "Is this it?" "Yes," Patience returned, somewhat waspishly. He could at least have noticed. "I thought it looked different." Vane flicked the cockade perched over her eyebrow- and met her gaze with a far-too-innocent look.”

“These look rather exotic." Behind her, Vane studied the way her gown had pulled tight over the curves of her bottom- and didn't argue. Lips lifting in anticipation, he moved in- to spring his trap. Her heart racing, tripping in double time, Patience straightened, and went to slide around the fountain, to place it between herself and the wolf she was trapped in the conservatory with. Instead, she ran into an arm. She blinked at it. One faultless grey sleeve enclosing solid bone well covered with steely muscle, large fist locked over the scrolled rim of the basin, it stated very clearly that she wasn't going anywhere. Patience whirled- and found her retreat similarly blocked. Swinging farther, she met Vane's gaze; standing on the tiled floor, one step below her, arms braced on the rim, his eyes were nearly level with hers. She studied them, read his intent in the silvered grey, in the hardening lines of his face, the brutally sensual line of those uncompromising lips. She couldn't believe her eyes. "Here?" The word, weak though it was, accurately reflected her disbelief. "Right here. Right now.”

“So," he murmured, his tone deep, "nothing of any moment happened here." Her gaze transfixed by the long strip of linen, Patience tried to speak and couldn't- she shook her head. "Good." The word was a feral purr. With a negligent flick, Vane sent the cravat to join his coat. "So there's nothing to distract you." Patience dragged her gaze up to his face. "Distract me?" "From the subject we need to discuss." "You want to discuss something?" She hauled in a breath and tried to steady her giddy head. Vane trapped her gaze. "You. Me." His face hardened. "Us." With a supreme effort, Patience raised her brows. "What about 'us'?" A muscle in his jaw flickered. From the corner of her eye, she saw his fist clench. "I," he declared, "have reached the end of my tether.”

“I assume 'elegant gentlemen,' such as you, learn such useful skills very early in life." "Actually, no." Straight-faced, Vane reached for her pins. "Us rakes-of-the-first-order..." Dropping pins left and right, he set her hair cascading down. With a satisfied smile, he caught her about the waist and drew her hard against him. "We," he said, looking into her eyes, "spend our time concentrating on rather different skills- like letting ladies' hair down. And getting them out of their clothes. Getting them into bed. And other things." He demonstrated- very effectively.”

“October mornings peeled the night cloud back to its subcutaneous lilac tissue. The leaves earned their name by leaving the trees. Browned and blistered foliage cascaded from the sycamore, swilling into the exterior nooks of the house, ruffling the gravel, snagging on the tortured remains of the thistle, bottlenecking and compacting in the corner where the wheelie bin was kept, so that when it was taken off for collection, its absence created a rectangular hollow the shape of a short, stocky pillar that held its shape for several seconds before crumbling.”