Quotes About Conflict

Annabel looked down. Her hands were shaking. She couldn't do this. Not yet. She couldn't face the man she'd kissed who happened to be the heir to the man she didn't want to kiss but whos she probably was going to marry. Oh yes, and she could not forget that if she did marry the man she didn't want to kiss, she was likely to provide him with a new heir, thus cutting off the man she did want to kiss.

Neither one of you is going to kill, maim, attack, or even hug the other for at least thirty minutes.

A gentleman might have stopped then. She had climaxed, and she was still a virgin, and he was probably a beast for wanting to make love to her fully, but he simply couldn't...not. She was his. But not, he was coming to realize, quite as much as he was hers.

Bridgerton," he grunted. Damn damn damn. Colin Bridgerton was the last person he wanted to see right now. Even the ghost of Napoleon, come down to slice a rapier through his gullet, would have been preferable.

There was nothing she valued more than a cool and clear head, and Michael had managed to steal that from her with a single kiss. And then he'd done more. So much more. She was never going to be the same. She was never going to be /sane/. 'You look distressed,' he said. She wanted to strangle him. He cocked his head and smiled. She wanted to kiss him. He held up the teapot. 'More?' God, yes, and that was the problem.

Benedict suddenly had to get away. It was either that or kill the twittering ninnyhammer, and with so many witnesses, he didn't think he could get away with it.

Is there something you wish to tell me?" Violet asked gently. Hyacinth shook her head. How did one share something such as this with one's mother? —Oh, yes, by the by and in case you're interested, it has recently come to my attention that my affianced husband asked me to marry him because he wished to infuriate his father. —Oh, and did I mention that I am no longer a virgin? No getting out of it now! No, that wasn't going to work

She should have been relieved that she did not do something she was sure to regret. But she wasn't. She wanted her regrets. She wanted them desperately. She wanted to do something she knew she should not, and she wanted to lie in bed at night letting the memory keep her warm.

Michael had to clutch the end of the table to keep from rising. He could have had Shakespeare at his side to translate, and still not have been able to explain why Colin"s remark infuriated him so.

You are the bane of my existence and the object of all my desires.

He wanted to come along," said the one in the corner, the only one who hadn't yet tried to kill Phillip. Phillip decided he liked this one best, especially when he wrapped his hand around Gregory's forearm to prevent the younger man from launching himself at Eloise. Which

I hope that bite becomes infected," Poppy said in a malevolent growl. "I hope your arm turns black and falls off. I hope your bollocks turn gree—" "Poppy!" Andrew barked.

amidst the horrors of war, it became apparent that there was no way he could possibly survive the carnage. And if by some stroke of fate he managed to come through the conflict with his body intact, he knew that his soul would not be so lucky.

knew well the singularly strange sensation of loving one's family to distraction, and yet not feeling quite able to share one's deepest and most intractable fears.

Duels have been fought for less." "By idiots!

Alguma coisa murchou dentro de Daphne nesse momento, e ela ficou com muito medo de que tivesse sido o coração. Não soube como argumentar diante do que ele falou. O ódio que Simon nutria pelo pai era claramente muito mais forte do que qualquer amor que pudesse vir a sentir por ela.

Something shriveled inside Daphne at that moment, and she was very much afraid it was her heart. She didn't know how she was meant to argue with such a statement. Simon's hatred of his father was clearly far stronger than any love he might learn to feel for her.

You disapprove of everything about me." He stepped toward her, his hand tightening on her arm. "That is so far from the truth as to be laughable.

It came to him in a startling flash. He missed her. He was here, in the same house, sleeping just three doors down, and he missed her. It was his own fault. He knew he'd been avoiding her. But what was he to do? He had kissed Billie, kissed her until he was nearly past the edge of reason, and now he was expected to make polite conversation with her at the breakfast table? In front of his mother ?

And what the hell was he going to do with Daphne? He didn't want to hurt her, couldn't bear to hurt her, actually, and yet he was doomed to do so simply by marrying her. He burned for her, ached for the day when he could lay her down and cover her body with his, slowly entering her until she moaned his name—

Maybe this, then, was the definition of love. When you wanted someone, needed her, adored her still, even when you were utterly furious and quite ready to tie her to the bed just to keep her from going out and making more trouble.

was the last person he wanted to see right now. Even the ghost of Napoleon, come down to slice a rapier through his gullet, would have been preferable.

It amazed her how easily he could infuriate her. She loved desperately—she'd long since given up lying to herself about that—and yet he could make her entire body shake with anger with one little quip.

And then there was Kate Sheffield. The bane of his existence. And the object of his desires.