One must do the outrageous with style. With élan. With complete conviction.
Her smile hollowed out his chest. She’d changed since last he saw her. She was brighter. More vibrant. Happiness suited her.
There is a view,” he said. “You will admire it.” A command. All wrong. He meant for her to hear that he wanted her to see the view, but no. By habit, he demanded that she accompany him. “I should like for you to see it. Please.
She had a good, strong voice. She smiled with her voice, too. This, he thought, was the magic that had drawn him to her.
Her gaze collided with the duke’s. His eyes were a clear, pale green. Why was he staring so intently when there was hardly another woman less interesting than she?
You are walking to Hope Springs?” “Yes, Your Grace.” “In this weather?” She glanced around and gave him a smile. “I haven’t any other weather to walk in.
He’d seen that absent look from her dozens of times in London. She thought herself invisible, and was not. Not to him. This was the second time he’d mentioned marriage to her. The second time she heard nothing but his words.
She laughed, and the duke might actually have smiled, though one could never be certain.
He remounted. “I will ride with you.” With some effort, he gentled his voice. “If that would be agreeable to you.” “How kind of you. Thank you.
Because, good God, Lily Wellstone had the face of an angel, the body of a goddess, and the spirit of the devil glinting from her eyes. She was a woman worth losing his soul for.