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“How dare you!" she shrieked, unaware of the silent young man standing in the shadows, staring at her. "Threatening me! You coldhearted bastard, I could have any number of men call you out for the insult." "I doubt it," he drawled, feeling wicked enough to goad her. "I'm quite deadly in a duel, and most of your paramours know it. You're not worth dying for, my dear, as neither of us is certain you have any honor to save.”

Quote by Anne Stuart

Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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To Love a Dark Lord

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Anne Stuart
Anne Stuart

Anne Stuart, born on May 2, 1948, is an acclaimed American novelist. Known for her intricate character development and emotional depth, her works have gained a wide readership around the world. more

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“She sat up again, horror filling her as the memory came flooding back. "Oh, no," she said out loud, quite distinctly. And out of the darkness his voice, the low, cool drawl with the faint trace of a lilt, said, "Oh, yes." Emma slid her legs around, pulling her feet on the thick French carpet. Her dress was tumbling down around her shoulders, and she knew whom to thank for that service. "You," she said, not bothering to disguise the horror in her voice. "Me," he agreed. "Come to your rescue once more, my sweet.”

James KilloranEmma And JamesEmma Langolet
Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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“Her courage almost failed her. He stood watching her, silent, still, as she came to him, and through the scudding clouds the moonlight shone down all around him. He was a man of moonlight, she thought fancifully. Cold and silvered, a creature of the night and shadows. And she was putting herself at his mercy, though she sincerely doubted he was possessed of that particular commodity.”

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Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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“He had moved closer to the fire and was turning his laced sleeves back when he saw her. Her red hair was a blaze across the white ermine lap throw in which she was wrapped. She was sound asleep, lying on the settee, and he could see the pinched white misery of her face, the paleness of her lips, the faint spattering of freckles against her skin. He wondered if he could redden those lips. Would she pay the logical price for rescue? She was in his house, in his power, and if she were even the slightest bit knowledgeable about the way the world worked, she'd know what was expected of her. She was probably lying naked beneath that soft white fur, expecting him. A sudden rush of desire washed over him, and he examined it, surprised. It had been a very long time since the thought of a soft, sweet body had aroused his interest, not to mention another, more demanding part of him. But Emma Brown, with her murderous ways, her soft, shy mouth, and her astonishing bravery, had done just that. He moved to stand over her. He considered unfastening his breeches and taking her there on the sofa. After all, she must be a doxy, despite that innocence. No one could look as she did, find herself in the situations she did untouched, and remain untouched. He reached out a hand, tugging the fur down, hoping to see exposed skin. Instead he saw that miserable gray serge that he'd wanted to rip off her when he'd unfastened it earlier. She wasn't made for gray serge. She was made for silks and satins and furs. And the pristine whiteness of bed linen and smooth skin. "What are you doing?" His damnable guest, Nathaniel, appeared in the doorway, his brown hair ruffled from sleep, a glowering expression on his face. "Admiring Miss Brown," Killoran said lazily, turning his gaze back to the sleeping woman.”

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Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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“I don't suppose you care to enlighten me as to who you are?" "Do you really care?" He smiled then. "No." "I thought not. Miss Brown will do." "On the contrary- 'Miss Brown' will not do at all. I refuse to have someone living under my protection with such a tedious name. 'Emma' will suffice. You seem rather like an Emma, despite your exotic appearance. There's something definitely well ordered about the name Emma. Calm and reasonable, warmhearted and generous." "You think I'm calm and reasonable?" She was astounded. While that sounded a bit more flattering than she tended to view herself, he'd painted a fairly accurate picture of the real Emma. Well ordered, sensible, kind, and serene, despite the storms that surrounded her. But how could he possibly know that?”

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Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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“Make certain you tell them you are not my sister." "Your sister? Why should anyone believe such an absurdity?" she said hotly, shaken by the very notion. He touched her then. His elegant, pale hand reached out and touched her chin, tilting her face up to his. He looked at her carefully, his dark green eyes revealing only cursory interest. "I cannot imagine," he said after a moment.”

James KilloranEmma And James
Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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“He has a very strong sense of beauty, he has. You're to dress entirely in black and white and silver." "Why?" "Ask him yourself, miss. He'll be here in a minute." "He certainly won't!" Emma cried, leaping for the black dress and pulling it over her head, slapping away Mrs. Rumson's clumsy attempts to assist her. The gown was barely around her shoulders when the door opened, without so much as a knock. Beneath the yards of filmy material, Emma allowed herself a quiet snarl. "Arguing with Mrs. Rumson again, my angel?" Emma yanked the gown down, half hoping it would rip. It didn't, and the clinging black silk gauze settled around her curves perfectly. "I'm not used to dressing in front of an audience," she said sternly. Killoran had already availed himself of the most comfortable chair and seemed prepared to enjoy himself. "Accustom yourself, Emma," he said. "It is quite the fashion. Great beauties have their cicisbeis to guide their choices of jewelry and maquillage. Think of me as merely a servant to your exquisite loveliness." She scowled. "I am not a great beauty," she said, advancing on him as Mrs. Rumson struggled behind her, trying to fasten the myriad of tiny black buttons. "I don't wear maquillage, and I have no jewelry." She halted, her anger carrying her so far and no farther. She was already dangerously close to him, and he simply looked up at her, that cool, assessing expression on his face. He said nothing for a long moment, merely let his eyelids droop as he surveyed the length of her. "Perhaps you're right," he said finally. "You are no common beauty. You are, however, quite... magnificent." There was an undercurrent of heat in his words that terrified her, but a moment later it had vanished, and he was leaning back, watching her with detached interest.”

BeautyJames KilloranEmma And JamesEmma Langolet
Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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“I'm not your sister." He was still touching her breasts. The dark smile that lit his face was far from reassuring. He leaned closer, so close she could sense the warmth of his breath against her parted lips, and she felt herself weaken. If the wall weren't at her back, she would have been unable to stand. As it was, she held herself very still, not daring to breathe, aware only of his dark green eyes staring into hers, his breath on her mouth, his hands on her breasts. "Remember that," he whispered, so close, so desperately close.”

James KilloranEmma And James
Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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“He could have broken the man's neck with little difficulty, and it had taken a portion of his legendary self-control to keep from giving in to the impulse. Particularly when the cold, killing rage that had sustained him for ten long years had suddenly burned white-hot at the sight of his enemy mauling Emma. Perhaps that was what was troubling him. He'd ruthlessly stripped himself of all weakness, all emotion, anticipating little from this life except a passably entertaining evening and the bloody death of Jasper Darnley. And yet, suddenly, desires were churning inside him, stronger than he'd felt in years. He didn't like it. Emma didn't like it either, he thought absently. He had felt her animosity, hot, intense, almost sexual, radiating out at him during the ride home. It had been very... arousing. That, and the memory of her face at the opera, eyes shining with delight. He'd wanted to reach for her, put his hands on her, and pull her against him, to touch her and wipe out the touch of Darnley's fat-fingered hands. She'd have fought him, of course, and he had yet to find the struggles of an unwilling woman to be the slightest bit entertaining. But the interest lay in how long it would take him to make her cease struggling. What kind of sounds would she make when he pulled the black silk down to her waist and freed her breasts from the soft chemise he'd bought her? What kind of sounds would she make when he pushed her down on the bed upstairs and drove into her? Would she be easy to pleasure? Or would she be shy, wary, making him seduce her oh, so carefully?”

James KilloranEmma Langolet
Book:To Love a Dark Lord
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