Quotes from Nicola Cornick

In a letter to Sebastian... My brother is preoccupied with affairs of state and all the more suitable of his friends are unavailable at present, which only leaves you... Seb winced. The minx. She knew how to deliver a neat insult.

He'll admit to his feelings when he's in his cups. The valet nodded. That's true, ma'am. If we could get him drunk. Clara stifled a laugh. I am not certain I would want a man who has to be drunk to admit his love for me.

Sebastian stretched. Clara stared. She could not help it. He was still in his breeches and shirt and she was riveted by the deliciously tight fit of the buckskins over his thighs. You could avert your eyes, Sebastian said mildly. I could, Clara agreed, but I am not going to. He smiled. Hussy. I know. But I have waited a long time--

They ease, I suppose, and smooth away a little and become a part of your life's pattern. The sharp edges do get dulled in time..." "But every so often something will catch you," Holly said. "A memory, a place, a thought, and for that one moment the grief will be as sharp and terrifying as it ever was.

Congratulations? Martin's expression was like boiling milk. Congratulations? I will not permit my sister to marry such a rogue. Martin, darling. Juliana said, putting a gentle hand on her husband's arm, I completely understand your misgivings but I do think we should consider the matter calmly. Calmly! Martin spun around. I am not calm! I think we all realize that, dearest, Juliana said.

There were traces of history everywhere—in street names, on inn signs, in old tracks and ancient hedgerows, buried walls and tumbled gravestones. Scratch the surface and it was there.

Good morning, Lord Vickery, she [Lady Elizabeth Scarlet] said. "The early fortune hunter catches the heiress, eh?

When your lover visits to discuss the illegitimate child you kept a secret from him, offer him a glass of wine… The one that most definitely not been in the dowager duchess's handbook.

And suddenly I knew where Alison was, and what I had to do in order to find her son and get word to her.

She pressed her fingertips to the cold glass. Outside the night was beautiful but frozen. The trees were still as statues. Above the trees swung a little star, glittering in the deep dark of the night, sometimes obscured by the scurrying cloud, sometimes shining bright, growing in strength.

I find writing really hard, but then, every author I know finds writing really hard work.