Quotes from Elizabeth Hoyt

What the hell was that?" he hissed at Montgomery. "A question." The duke reached for another piece of toast. "Did you mean to alert him to our investigation on purpose?" Apollo growled. "Yes and no." Montgomery shrugged. "I'm bored. Nothing's happening. Sometimes it's best to send the fox into the chicken house to see if a snake slithers out.

Apollo straddled the prone dandy and leaned down into his face, intimidating him as he'd dared to do to Lily. "Don't come… back until… you can talk… to her with a civil tongue.

She ducked her head, studying his fingers, spreading them against her own, comparing their lengths. His hand dwarfed hers.

His hand stilled on her hair and he said, very carefully and calmly, "There is never any excuse for a man to hit a woman—any woman—let alone one he professes to love." She was quiet a moment, just basking in his gentle strength.

Briefly, he tried to imagine any of his previous, male secretaries daring to comment on his appearance. It was impossible. In fact, he couldn't think of anyone, save his current female secretary, who made such impertinent comments to him. Oddly, he found her impertinence endearing. Not that he let it show.

Pay heed: the artichoke is a shy vegetable. She covers herself in spine-tipped leaves that must be carefully peeled away, and underneath shields her treasure with a barricade o' soft needles. They must be tenderly, but firmly, scraped aside. Ye must be bold, for if yer not, she'll never reveal her soft heart.

You're burning," she gasped. "Then you ought not to touch me," he said seriously. "You'll be consumed." "Too late," she muttered, and pivoted, trying to drag him, he presumed, toward the bed. "You're awfully heavy—" "My soul is made of lead." "—and you're delirious," she ended decisively. "I need to get help.

He paid scant attention to the conversation. He could smell his own sent on Anna's body, and it satisfied him in a primal way ... She gasped as he buried his nose in her maiden hair and inhaled. His scent was strongest here, in her gilded curls so soft and pretty in the morning light.

Nothing leveled a man quite like being unable to protect his woman.

When he died, she took her hopes for a child and wrapped them carefully in a box and buried that box deep, deep in her heart. So deep, she thought never to face that dream again. Except, with one sentence, Edward had exhumed the box and ripped it open. And her hopes, her dreams, her need to bear a child were as fresh now as they had been when she was newly wed.

Really, sometimes it would be much easier if one were allowed to simply hit gentlemen over the head.

Anna Wren was not for him. She was of a different class than he, and, moreover, she was a respectable widow from the village. She wasn't a sophisticated society lady who might consider a liaison outside of wedlock.

He burst from the water. He was facing her now. The muscles bunched on his arms as he slicked his wet, shoulder-length hair back from his face. The mist swirled amber over the surface of the water, adorning his gleaming skin as if he were the tributary god of this ruined garden. Her pity evaporated, burned away by the sudden realization that she had it all wrong. He was… She swallowed. Good Lord. He was magnificent.

Temperance pursed her lips, her eyes firmly fixed on the growing mound of chopped turnip roots. "Do you think anyone really likes turnips?" "Temperance…" Temperance poked the tip of her knife into a white cube and held it up. "They are very filling, of course, but really, when was the last time you heard someone say, 'Oh, I'm so very fond of turnips'?

Indio started forward and took the big man's hand as naturally as he'd taken his mother's. "Come on! Maude's making roast chicken and there'll be gravy and dumplings.

And yet he was holding the hand of a little boy and trailing the boy's exasperating mother. Perhaps he was lonely. Or perhaps it was the look in her eyes when he'd emerged from the pond and found her watching him that urged his footsteps on. It had been a long time—a very, very long time—since a woman had last looked at him like that. As if she saw something she liked.

show me the other horses, Captain Trevillion?" "Certainly." He limped forward to offer her his arm.

Why did men think that saying something louder made it true?

THERE WERE THOSE who compared Bedlam to hell—a writhing purgatory of torture and insanity. But Apollo Greaves, Viscount Kilbourne, knew what Bedlam really was. It was limbo. A place of interminable waiting.

Tall, dark fellow with a bit of a manner? Witty and knows it?" And a devil with the ladies, he thought but did not say aloud to his sister.

Lily opened the door. "Maude, would you—" She cut herself off. Maude was nowhere in sight, but Caliban was across the room, holding a page of her play to the light of the fire. His eyes were intent, his brow slightly creased—and he was quite obviously reading the page.

What of all the men who made her what she is by associating with her?" she asked. "No one worries about the reputation of the men who patronize whores." "I can't believe you would speak of such things," he sputtered in outrage.

winter?" She traced a circle on his breastbone, her touch

society will judge you rather harshly, my dear." She