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He’d been her one taste of the forbidden fruit. A slow coil of anger began to burn deep inside him. Nobody ever asked the damned fruit if it wanted to be forbidden.
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Third, as the ladies have clearly mastered the female art of chastity, our masculine inability to control our urges rather weakens our claims to be the stronger sex.
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I’m Edward Clark. Born Edward Delacey. Now, apparently, Viscount Claridge.” He shut his eyes. “You can address me by my preferred title: you idiot.
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After everything we’ve done for each other, a few harsh words hardly signify.
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Using facts to settle disputes. How bold of you.
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No, Mr. Marshall. I will not be browbeaten, however nicely you do it. I am done with things happening to me. From here on out, I am going to happen to things.
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It is the nature of English society to do precisely that: to keep the lower classes low and raise the upper classes even higher.
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If you’re going to throw the girl to the wolves, it’s only appropriate to outfit her with a red cloak.
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He was nothing but a deep abyss of want, and only she could fill him.
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You've always been your own knight, riding to your rescue. I'm just the man who came along and saw how brightly your armor shone.
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Margaret had always thought a man seduced a woman by making her aware of his charms: his body, his wealth, his kisses. How naive she had been. Ash Turner seduced her with the promise of her own self.
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Hers. Hers. She belonged to herself again, body and soul, pleasure and heartbreak. She was every inch hers again, her body reclaimed from those long years of bitter ownership. She was hers.
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I would never interrupt you," he told her. "I love it when you talk Sweetly to me.
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There’s not much to me but animal instinct. Don’t look to me for a logical discourse on your charms.
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I’d tell you to fetch a match, but you have always had your own spark.
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Robert was good at many things. Communicating with women was not one of them. “That’s not what I meant,” he muttered.
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In fact, if the conversation had been animate, the merciful thing to do would have been to take it out behind the barn and shoot it.
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He'd fashioned himself into one hard edge. He was all blade and no handle. If she held him close, she'd risk being cut.
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When his eyes rested on her, he stopped. He’d been smiling before, in a friendly fashion. But what lit his face when he saw her was more than a smile, more than a grin. It was as if someone had thrown aside the curtains of a sickroom on a glorious morning, to let sunlight spill into every darkened corner.
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I’ll be your friend in daylight. I’ll treat you as a comrade in every gas-lit ballroom. But alone, under moonlight, I’ll not pretend that I want you for anything but mine.
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Truth, but truth twisted to sting.
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He wasn't sure what he was saying, either, but he felt as if he were slipping into some dangerous world - one where answers ceased to be easy.
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You anchor me without holding me down. You frighten me without threatening my future. You're unflinchingly devoted. I love you.
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Don’t say my name like that. Please, Your Grace. If you have any care for me at all - pretend to flirt. But don’t actually do it.