“Late that afternoon Raphael stood at the window of his study, looking out over the back of his garden. He could see small blue flowers blooming along the gravel paths, but for the life of him he could not recall what their name was. Somehow he knew that Iris would be able to name the tiny blue flowers. He pushed the thought aside. He'd lived over thirty years without Iris in his life and never felt the lack. Yet now she was gone merely hours and he was gazing out the window, mooning after her. He could shove her from his mind. He must shove her from his mind. But he still saw her tearstained face. Heard her pleading with him. Remembered her saying, "I love you." He closed his eyes. She was haunting him. It was as if she were in his blood now, a part of him as surely as the veins running under his skin, the lungs that let him breathe air. She'd permeated him until he could no more separate her from himself than tear the heart from his body. She was essential to his life.” True LoveIris And RaphaelIris De Chartres Book:Duke of Desire Source: Duke of Desire
“His heart stilled at the mere thought of her hurting herself. 'He was a fool.' Of course this debate harkened back to her recent capture. To her near rape. What she must have thought when she'd been kidnapped? When she'd been hooded and dragged before the Lords of Chaos and made to kneel in front of a sacrificial stone? She must have been out of her mind with terror. And yet she'd controlled her fear. More, despite her firsthand near experience, she now passionately argued that a woman ravaged and raped should never give up hope. Should fight to stay alive despite all odds. He was amazed by her perception. Awed by her bravery. He turned his hand over and gripped her fingers. "Your pardon." It wasn't naivete that had driven her argument. It was something far nobler. "I would never blame you, my duchess, if you were thus abused, and I would never wish for you to take your own life." He lifted her hand and pressed his mouth to her palm, and as he did so he had a sharp, visceral memory: He'd kissed her before the fever had overtaken him. Her lips had been soft and yielding to the invasion of his tongue. She'd tasted of tea. He wanted to taste her again. To lick across her prim little lips, make her open her mouth and moan.” BraveryNobleIris And RaphaelIris De Chartres Author:Elizabeth Hoyt
“The peach gown she'd chosen was the color of the sunrise, the rippling watered silk seeming to subtly change from rose to pink to nearly orange in different lights. She'd fallen in love with it at once.” SunriseColorsBrightGownPeach ColorIris De Chartres Book:Duke of Desire Source: Duke of Desire