Quotes from Anne Stuart

She was playing with fire. He could talk a nun into an orgy.

God help her, she wanted him. Not because of his beauty, but because of the odd gentleness in his manner when she didn't expect it, because of the lost look in his green eyes, because of the way he made her feel with just a few words, because of the way he made her melt when he touched her. The jaded rake he presented to the world was just as much a mask as her own was.

For one thing, she was quite astonishingly beautiful. Not at all in the common style, she was possessed of a thick mane of impossibly flame-colored hair, a tall, lush body of dangerous voluptuousness, and the warm, honey-colored eyes of a complete innocent. That red hair called to him, a siren lure, but he assumed it was only nostalgia and misplaced sentiment. Not that he'd ever been known to possess those two qualities.

I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way

He'd done his best to ignore the angry, veiled invitation in the little virgin's eyes, the one she didn't even know she'd issued. But now she'd delivered herself to him, he could hardly resist, now, could he?

One shouldn't lust after an innocent.

Her longing for him was unbearably painful. In truth, she looked at the beautiful, spoiled, self-indulgent man and saw a wounded, angry child. One who needed her.

Being Irish, he was also possessed of a certain lethal charm, a ruined estate somewhere back in Ireland, and eyes the color of Lady Winnimere's world-famous emeralds. Add to that an almost sinful beauty of face framed by black curls, a tall, graceful body, and quite the most elegant hands in all of London, and Killoran, who disdained to use his title, was indeed a dangerously attractive member of society.

How dare you! she shrieked, unaware of the silent young man standing in the shadows, staring at her. Threatening me! You coldhearted bastard, I could have any number of men call you out for the insult. I doubt it, he drawled, feeling wicked enough to goad her. I'm quite deadly in a duel, and most of your paramours know it. You're not worth dying for, my dear, as neither of us is certain you have any honor to save.

When she stopped long enough to think about it she knew the wanting ran through him as deeply as it ran through her.

would toss a mission in favor of a woman's life.

Emma took a step back, surveying her. "So you're going into society on Rohan's arm tonight. What will you wear?" "I hadn't thought about it," she lied, pushing her loose hair away from her face. "I must have something left from my season." "Jesus God," Emma muttered. "We've got our work cut out for us." And suddenly she raised her voice. "Girls! We have a project!

You'll help me? I told you, I have once more come to your rescue. Like a deus ex machina, I appear where I'm most needed. You don't seem the slightest bit godlike to me, she observed. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact.

He was sitting on her thighs, and his silk breeches were cool against her bare skin. His hands slid up her body, her buttocks, up the line of her back, and she arched in pleasure, like a cat, unable to help herself. You like that, do you? he murmured. I thought you might. You're a sensual creature, dear heart, no matter how you try to fight it. You were made for this.

He pushed away from the door, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. He looked like the devil, he thought with a trace of wry amusement. And dear, sweet, murderous Emma was a Botticelli angel, ripe for debauching.

He's a dope. She's crazy about him, he's in love with her, and yet he's being all noble and leaving her. He's a fathead.

He wasn't sure why or how, but he… cared about her. He could be the worst possible bastard, but something stopped him from being that callous, and the thought disturbed him. Was he growing soft? Becoming kind?

Stop living in a fairy tale she murmured, leaning back against the chair. I'm not a dragon, Hetty's not a princess and you're closer to a troll than an ogre. Christian laughed. Trolls are very ugly, dear heart. I may be conscienceless, degenerate, selfish and shallow but I'm actually quite pretty by all accounts. Go find our driver she muttered. The sooner we get out of here, the less likely it is that I'll kill you. I can still reach the gun.

Leave her alone, Killoran. I promised her you meant no ill will. And did she believe you? Not for a moment. Killoran looked back at her. Wise girl, he murmured. But for now, she's safe. I promise to keep my marauding hands off her fair young body. For the time being.

Lady Miranda Rohan struck him as someone extremely difficult to crush. Thus, the challenge was immediately appealing.

She stopped. Foolish, hurtful thoughts. Why was it that she was the one who was so cruel to herself? No one else, save perhaps her mother, long ago, had ever made her feel ugly. And last night, this morning, Kilmartyn had made her feel… radiant.

You're probably right, he whispered. About what? He looked up at him and managed a brief, farewell smile. I rather think Emma did run off with my heart, he confessed.

I'll see you in hell." "Ah, but you'll be there first, my dear. Move.

I should leave your property. She tried to move, but he forestalled her, putting his hands on her shoulders. She felt thinner, more fragile beneath the thin green material, and there were shadows under here eyes. I thought you were my property as well. You don't want me. I may be cruel, heartless, and penniless, dear Emma, he said lightly. I never said I was a fool.