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“You will treat me with respect."
He didn't say anything for a moment.
"What does that mean?" he finally asked.
She looked over at him. "Do I need to explain that, your lordship? I would think an earl of your reputed stature would know the meaning of respect.”
― Karen Ranney, The Virgin of Clan Sinclair

“He shouldn't be captivated by the sight of a tear caught on her lashes, or her perfect nose, slightly pink. Those lips were even more intriguing, so he made himself look away, staring out at the forest beyond the gazebo.
He glanced down to find Ellice still looking up at him, her eyes liquid pools of chocolate.
Their gaze caught and held, the seconds ticking by in solemn regularity. He felt drawn to her like a magnet. Pulling away would be a difficult task.
He must for his own safety. This woman with her guileless eyes, soft heart, and lurid imagination was a danger.”
― Karen Ranney, The Virgin of Clan Sinclair

“What is being a Scot like?" Ellice heard her mother ask.
'Oh, no.'
"A certain independence of spirit,"she answered before the men could. Or before the girl serving the venison could hear, take notes about Enid's snide remarks, and carry them to Brianag.
"An ability to carry on despite circumstances," she continued. "Perhaps a belief in otherworldly phenomena."
"Do you think we all believe in ghosts?" Gadsden asked.
She glanced at him. Now was not the time to recall the feeling of her breasts pressing against his chest, of his fingers on her skin, his lips trailing kisses along her throat.
Or her earlier image of him unveiling her, inch by inch.
Her cheeks warmed.
"Do you believe in ghosts?" she asked him.
"Not the incorporeal ones," he said. "Only those of memory and mind."
"Are you a haunted man?"
He didn't answer her, merely sat there, his gaze steady on her. To her surprise neither her mother nor Macrath said a word. Or perhaps they did and she didn't hear anything.
She was caught by his gray eyes, snared and netted until she could almost imagine she was at his feet, head bowed, swearing allegiance to him.
He'd raise her up with both hands on her arms until she stood before him, clad only in her gauzy tunic. A slave brought to the man who declared himself her master.”
― Karen Ranney, The Virgin of Clan Sinclair

“She bit her lips, concentrating, wishing he'd go and sit on one of the chairs before the fireplace. Or stand at the window and watch the full moon. Anything but sit there so close she could smell the sandalwood soap he used.
Night had brought a shadow of a beard to his face. He no longer looked every inch the earl, but more a coach robber, someone who would march her out to the glen and kiss her until she fell to her knees.
He would show no mercy to her. Instead, he would make her beg.”
― Karen Ranney, The Virgin of Clan Sinclair

“When the smell of her perfume, something that reminded him of faint spicy blossoms and spring, wasn't wreathed in a cloud around him.
Maybe it was magic. Was she one of the creatures from the many Scottish tales his nurse had told him as a child?”
― Karen Ranney, The Virgin of Clan Sinclair

“My eyes are brown and my hair is brown."
"Your eyes are the color of warm chocolate," he said, tilting his head to study her. "Your hair isn't brown, but auburn with gold and red threads in it like the finest tapestry.”
― Karen Ranney, The Virgin of Clan Sinclair

“Do you like sandwiches?" he asked.
"At this point, I think I'd eat anything. Other than rabbit. I'm not excessively fond of rabbit."
"Or anything with eyes," he said, charming her by remembering. "I've an appetite for beef, some bread, mustard, and ale."
At her look, he smiled. "I have a schoolboy's tastes. It's what I lived on in England. I still crave it from time to time."
Hustle's staff must have been prepared for his cravings because within a quarter hour they were seated in his sitting room with a large tray on the table between them. She was dressed in one of his blue dressing gowns and he wore a black patterned one.
She tucked her feet beneath her as, one by one, he took the domed lids from a succession of plates, each smelling better than the one before. When he came to the cake, a delicious looking confection filled with nuts and fruit, she glanced up at him.
"I want cake," she said. "Before anything healthful or beneficial."
"Cake it is, then," he said, cutting a piece and handing it to her.
She closed her eyes after the first forkful. The taste was heavenly, light and airy yet filled with nuts and chopped apricots.
When she opened her eyes, it was to find him watching her.
"I love cake," she said, embarrassed. "I love sweets."
"What about rabbit cake?"
"Oh, that would pose a problem for me."
He smiled and she felt it down to her toes.”
― Karen Ranney, The Virgin of Clan Sinclair

“The world was a glorious place this morning. The birds were particularly noisy in their greeting to the day. The sky was a cloudless blue, the color of delphiniums.
He'd never before equated the color of the sky to a flower.
This morning he would show Ellice some of the rare volumes in the Forster collection. He hoped she would be impressed at the illuminated scrolls or the Bible he suspected was one of the first Gutenberg volumes. Would she be interested in the Latin poetry he'd found? One of his ancestors had evidently collected erotic poetry.”
― Karen Ranney, The Virgin of Clan Sinclair

“The room smelled of lemon wax and the perfume she wore, something delicate and unassuming, not truly mirroring the complex woman she was. She would wear something hinting of roses, or more exotic blooms, a scent that teased the senses.
She hated the mirrors, so he had them removed. He found another desk in the attics, one more suited for a study, but she'd been overjoyed when first viewing it. There was enough space in the sitting room, and that's where it rested, beneath the window looking out over Huntly's glen.
He wished this view of the lake. She would have liked the sight of the birds soaring over the trees or the pale light of dawn reflected in the water.”
― Karen Ranney, The Virgin of Clan Sinclair

“What kind of love do you want?" he asked gently.
"Once I might have said like Donald and Lady Pamela. But they're imaginary. I want you to adore me like Macrath adores Virginia. Like Logan adores Mairi. I want to make your life better for being in it."
He came to her, bent his head until his lips were against her temple. "You've changed me, Ellice. You've made me whole. I won't live my life without you."
He rested his forehead against hers.
" 'Life has no meaning without you in it. Without the glory of the dawn in the shine of your hair. Without the blue of the skies in your eyes.' "
"I wrote that," she said, pulling back. "I was a bit overblown there, wasn't I?"
He smiled down at her. "Not at all. Donald is a man in love. Men in love say things that sound a bit overblown to anyone else."
"Do they?"
He nodded again. "Things like your eyes are as soft as velvet sometimes. And sometimes as hard as stone. I can always gauge your mood by how your eyes sparkle or if they don't. If you're amused or sad or a dozen other emotions. The rest of your face can be perfectly still, but you can't hide your eyes.”
― Karen Ranney, The Virgin of Clan Sinclair