Quotes from Anne Mallory

He was well aware of what an ass he was. Only Roman could tolerate him, really. Stupid, charming bastard.

Come, what secret describes this scene?" "Enjoy everything around you, even if you've seen it a thousand times before?" She said it as lightly as she could, as was often the case around him. She never knew whether to treat his attention as lingering amusement or seriousness. His fingers touched her chin, lifting it softly. "Even should I see you a thousand times. Each time would be a new lure.

Will you oblige me then?' His voice was low and smooth, nearly whispered ... Everything froze for a moment. Even the flickering lamps seemed to pause, flames surging upward and waiting ... 'No.

Change was Fate' the Romans said. well, Andreas loathed Fate, That Bitch.

Rumors often reflect the wishes of others.

It is my hope that in the end, we are evenly matched.' ... Being the one in power was desirable in order to put one's pieces in place. To test an opponent. But uneven power grew unendingly boring. And it was why most of his liaisons were short-lived. He wanted someone who waited and plotted, then struck back and made him move and think.

You will be my conscience, and I will be your shame.

She smiled, a warm smile that held no trace of aberrant humor. It bothered him on a level he couldn't comprehend. It bothered him on a level he couldn't comprehend. He experienced an overwhelming urge to grab that smile and hide it solely for himself to gaze upon. A Da Vinci masterpiece he intended to jealously guard.

But it had always been that smile. Not her position as Henry Wilcox's possible wife nor the possibility that he could take his enemies down by manipulating her family. Those hadn't been the things that had driven him when it came to his feelings for her. It had been that smile. Through the shadows of the theater that first night. When their eyes had met. She had smiled. Simply. Warmly. Looking directly at him, unaware that she should be afraid.

I have little talent with the pen, I assure you." He gazed at his son, then back to where the man at the entrance had stood. "But I admire those who do." He smiled again. "And I can't help but be enraptured by story. And desirous to stick my untalented pen in places where it doesn't belong to make a tale dance to my bidding.

Books allow readers to determine what they wish. People often aren't quite as forgiving if you don't read or see exactly what they wish you to.

She thought back to what Roman had said. That the power rested in her lap. The problem was that internalizing that revelation also meant decisions could no longer be pushed aside.

She touched his hand, and he went stock-still. She leaned over to examine it, the top of her head brushing beneath his nose. Only his sudden immobility stopped him from violently pulling away. "From the candles?" Had she bathed in bloody honey?

The duke's eyes were dark, but there was a glaze there. Pride in his dark son.

Three out of the four are good choices.' 'Three out of-' Her voice strangled. 'And the fourth?' He waved a hand. 'An outside chance. Besides' - his eyes stayed on the ledger - 'whoever the winner, the prize will be immense enough that he will become a prize himself, whatever his previous faults or station.

Never frightening her with anything but her own feelings for him.

My marriage to Abby] won't even be a blip on the gossip sheets unless we treat it as such.' 'Everything is fodder for the gossip sheets.' 'Not if we don't dignify it with a response and just go along as if this is the way things will be.

I think we should speak more of my suggestions, Miss Chatsworth.' He tilted his head and looked at the door, then dismissed it and whoever might be behind it. 'Unless you enjoy the spread of ugly rumors?' 'Blackmail?' She twisted her lips ... 'How bourgeois.' 'Actually, blackmail heartens back to the best of kings.

Now,' [her father] barked. She stiffly followed, still fully dressed in the elaborate navy-and-white gown she had worn all evening. It was hard not to feel as if the bare walls and surfaces she passed had been bled, leeched, into the cloth encasing her. Stripped paint and sacrificed heirlooms clinging to her, demanding she make everything right once more.

Her pride had once been a mile wide. So fierce and strong that she'd thought she could survive on the trait alone. The constant ache in her belly, the desperation, Kenny's fate...all had shown her otherwise.

And you did all of this before I awakened?' 'Not all of us can afford to be layabouts ... You upper class types are all the same. Sleep until noon and then fritter your nights away.' She narrowed her eyes. 'I do not fritter my nights away.' 'Really? And what do you do at night?' 'I go to social events. Parties or galas. Sometimes a musicale. Or a charity event,' she tacked on with satisfaction. 'Well, I must retract my frittering comment in that case.' 'It's not frittering. It's surviving.

Gabriel didn't need to look back. To see. He trusted his friend. He smiled grimly. And wasn't that the crux?

You just threatened them with a gun. I think I just threatened them with a gun. We got the money back. They actually returned it.' She took another shaky step. 'I feel so...vibrant.' His eyes were cynical. 'Delayed emotion. Don't do anything stupid because of it.

I understand what it is like to rely on beauty and know the shallowness of it ... Yet, it is impossible to say if you would have caught my attention the first time had you been plain and wrapped in brown. Thus remains the endless dilemma of beauty's impressionable curse.