Quotes About Intrigue

Good Lord, His Grace the Ass hiding in the bushes," Apollo muttered. "Whatever are you doing here?" "Ah, Kilbourne, you've regained your voice," Wakefield drawled. "Pity, but I presume my wife is thrilled. And you are?" He looked pointedly at Montgomery.

Miss Greaves drifted behind them, silent as a wraith. He had the most persistent urge to turn and confront her—make her say something to him.

He was covered, of course, but she knew what lay beneath the sheets- she'd seen him entirely nude at the Lords' revels. She had the image burned into her memory: a proud, thick penis, heavy sac, and curling midnight hair. If the coverlet slipped just a little bit downward, she would see the upper edge of that nest of black hair. The thought made her press her thighs together under her dress. Did he know how his body affected her?

Why then was he taking her? Was it merely for his own amusement- or was it for some other, more sinister reason? After all, only two days before she'd seen him kill a footman in cold blood. Of course Cal had tried to kill the duke in a particularly awful and vicious way. But then afterward the duke had kissed her as she'd never been kissed in all her life. His tongue had tasted of wine and sin and she'd wanted to moan and rub herself against him as he'd tilted her back over his arm.

ARTEMIS WOKE TO the feel of strong arms grasping her tight and lifting her from her bed. She should've been alarmed, but all she felt was a strange rightness. She looked up as Maximus carried her into the corridor outside her room. His face was set in grim lines, his eyes drawn and old, his mouth flat. He wore his banyan, its silk smooth beneath her cheek. She could hear his heart beating, strong and steady.

BUT HOW, EXACTLY, did one go about seducing a husband one hardly knew?

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.

You don't know that. You don't know me. No, he conceded. But I want to know you. I want to learn you until the workings of your mind are as familiar to me as I am to myself

TEMPERANCE STARED

Now, had he the dressing of her- and why should he not?- he would put her in reds- rose and scarlet and deep, sensual crimson. Those dark inquisitor's eyes would burn from a foil of crimson cloth, mysterious, feminine. Beautiful. He was startled at the thought. Plain Mrs. Crumb beautiful? Well, most might not think her so, but oh, if she burned-

He remembered Mrs. Dews' light brown eyes last night. The way they'd closed in bliss when he'd fed her the plum tart… Her emotion was foreign, wild and exciting, and entirely fascinating--and she tried so very hard to hide it. Why? He wanted to spend time with the source of such powerful emotion. Wanted to experiment, poke and prod, see what else made her cheeks flush her breath come fast.

He brought his great hand to rest on an early edition of Bram Stoker's novel and smiled, but said nothing. Then he moved quietly away into another section.

Another corner was dedicated to alchemy, another to witchcraft, another to philosophy of the most disturbing sort.

And I grant you that anyone who pokes around in history long enough may well go mad.

I grant you that anyone who pokes around in history long enough may well go mad.

his implant woke him at three A.M. local time, when he was, for reasons he never understood, dreaming about dancing fish.

The man's name tag read SLY LILYHANDS

Ramses had always been fond of Helen, in his peculiar fashion, but if he had looked at me as he was looking at her, I would have sent for a constable.

So now you have it. The plot, the whole plot, and nothing but the plot.

Either the War Office had recruited Ramses - in which case I would have General Spencer's head on a platter - or Ramses had come across something that, in his opinion, merited investigation.... I am never guilty of idle speculation, so I kept an open mind on that. Except that once I caught up with him, I would have Ramses' head on another platter.

Why is a man with a knife after your blood? Who sent him? I would like to write the fellow a letter of thanks!

I am here on business." "Indeed," I said. "Indeed?" Emerson's echo held a questioning note; but in fact I had already deduced the nature of the lady's business. Emerson calls this jumping to conclusions. I call it simple logic.

Someone was certainly guilty of something, however, and it behooved us to take all possible precautions.

I fink it is a femuw. A femuw of a winowcowus... A a-stinct winocowus.