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“The St. Vincents arrived with their daughter Phoebe, a red-haired infant with an alarmingly changeable temperament. One moment the child was placid and adorable. The next, she was a squalling devil-spawn who could only be soothed by the sound of her father’s voice. “There, darling,â€� St. Vincent had been known to coo into the infant’s ear. “Has someone displeased you? Ignored you? Oh, the insolence. My poor princess shall have anything she wants…â€� And, appeased by her father’s outrageous spoiling, Phoebe would settle into hiccupping smiles.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Mine Till Midnight

“Discreet as you are, Rohan, one can’t help but notice how ardently you are pursued. It seems you hold quite an appeal for the ladies of London. And from all appearances, you’ve taken full advantage of what’s been offered.â€�
Cam stared at him without expression. “Pardon, but are you leading to an actual point, my lord?�
Leaning back in his chair, St. Vincent made a temple of his elegant hands and regarded Cam steadily. “Since you’ve had no problem with lack of desire in the past, I can only assume that, as happens with other appetites, yours has been sated with an overabundance of sameness. A bit of novelty may be just the thing.�
Considering the statement, which actually made sense, Cam wondered if the notorious former rake had ever been tempted to stray.
Having known Evie since childhood, when she had come to visit her widowed father at the club from time to time, Cam felt as protective of her as if she’d been his younger sister. No one would have paired the gentle-natured Evie with such a libertine. And perhaps no one had been as surprised as St. Vincent himself to discover their marriage of convenience had turned into a passionate love match.
“What of married life?� Cam asked softly. “Does it eventually become an overabundance of sameness?�
St. Vincent’s expression changed, the light blue eyes warming at the thought of his wife. “It has become clear to me that with the right woman, one can never have enough. I would welcome an overabundance of such bliss—but I doubt such a thing is mortally possible.� Closing the account book with a decisive thud, he stood from the desk. “If you’ll excuse me, Rohan, I’ll bid you good night.�
“What about finishing the accounting?�
“I’ll leave the rest in your capable hands.â€� At Cam’s scowl, St. Vincent shrugged innocently. “Rohan, one of us is an unmarried man with superior mathematical abilities and no prospects for the evening. The other is a confirmed lecher in an amorous mood, with a willing and nubile young wife waiting at home. Who do you think should do the damned account books?â€� And, with a nonchalant wave, St. Vincent had left the office.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Mine Till Midnight

“Mr. Rohan,â€� she heard Beatrix ask, “are you going to marry my sister?â€�
Amelia choked on her tea and set the cup down. She sputtered and coughed into her napkin.
“Hush, Beatrix,� Win murmured.
“But she’s wearing his ring—�
Poppy clamped her hand over Beatrix’s mouth. �Hush!�
“I might,� Cam replied. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he continued. “I find your sister a bit lacking in humor. And she doesn’t seem particularly obedient. On the other hand—�
One set of French doors flew open, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. Everyone on the back terrace looked up in startlement, the men rising from their chairs.
�No,� came Win’s soft cry.
Merripen stood there, having dragged himself from his sickbed. He was bandaged and disheveled, but he looked far from helpless. He looked like a maddened bull, his dark head lowered, his hands clenched into massive fists. And his stare, promising death, was firmly fixed on Cam.
There was no mistaking the bloodlust of a Roma whose kinswoman had been dishonored.
“Oh, God,� Amelia muttered.
Cam, who stood beside her chair, glanced down at her questioningly. “Did you say something to him?�
Amelia turned red as she recalled her blood-spotted nightgown and the maid’s expression. “It must have been servants� talk.�
Cam stared at the enraged giant with resignation. “You may be in luck,� he said to Amelia. “It looks as if our betrothal is going to end prematurely.�
She made to stand beside him, but he pressed her back into the chair. “Stay out of this. I don’t want you hurt in the fray.�
“He won’t hurt me,� Amelia said curtly. “It’s you he wants to slaughter.�
Holding Merripen’s gaze, Cam moved slowly away from the table. “Is there something you’d like to discuss, chal?� he asked with admirable self-possession.
Merripen replied in Romany. Although no one save Cam understood what he said, it was clearly not encouraging.
“I’m going to marry her,� Cam said, as if to pacify him.
“That’s even worse!� Merripen moved forward, murder in his eyes.
Lord St. Vincent swiftly interceded, stepping between the pair. Like Cam, he’d had his share of putting down fights at the gambling club. He lifted his hands in a staying gesture and spoke smoothly. “Easy, large fellow. I’m sure you can find a way to resolve your differences in a reasonable fashion.�
“Get out of my way,� Merripen growled, putting an end to the notion of civilized discourse.
St. Vincent’s pleasant expression didn’t change. “You have a point. There’s nothing so tiresome as being reasonable. I myself avoid it whenever possible. Still, I’m afraid you can’t brawl when there are ladies present. It might give them ideas.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Mine Till Midnight

“The chambermaid, who had been leaving the room, paused at the doorway. "Pardon but 'e's not abed, miss...er, milady. Lord St. Vincent work Mr. Rohan at first light, and is dragging him to an' from, asking questions and giving 'im lists. Put Mr. Rohan in the devil's own mood, 'e 'as."

"Lord St. Vincent has that effect on people," Evie said dryly.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Winter

“As the carriage proceeded past the main gate, the estate mansion came into view. Contrary to Pandora's expectations, it wasn't at all cold and imposing. It was a gracious, low-slung residence of two stories, inhabiting its surroundings with comfortable ease. Its classic lines were softened by an abundance of glossy green ivy that mantled the cream stucco façade, and arbors of pink roses that arched cheerfully over the courtyard entrance. Two extended wings curved around the front gardens, as if the house had decided to fill its arms with bouquets. Nearby, a slope of dark, dreaming forest rested beneath a blanket of sunlight.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Spring

“Once a renowned skirt-chaser, now an exceptionally devoted husband, St. Vincent knew as much about these matters as any man alive. When Cam had asked glumly if a decrease in physical urges was something that naturally occurred as a man approached his thirties, St. Vincent had choked on his drink.
“Good God, no,� the viscount had said, coughing slightly as a swallow of brandy seared his throat. They had been in the manager’s office of the club, going over account books in the early hours of the morning.
St. Vincent was a handsome man with wheat-colored hair and pale blue eyes. Some claimed he had the most perfect form and features of any man alive. The looks of a saint, the soul of a scoundrel. “If I may ask, what kind of women have you been taking to bed?�
“What do you mean, what kind?� Cam had asked warily.
“Beautiful or plain?�
“Beautiful, I suppose.�
“Well, there’s your problem,� St. Vincent said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Plain women are far more enjoyable. There’s no better aphrodisiac than gratitude.�
“Yet you married a beautiful woman.�
A slow smile had curved St. Vincent’s lips. “Wives are a different case altogether. They require a great deal of effort, but the rewards are substantial. I highly recommend wives. Especially one’s own.�
Cam had stared at his employer with annoyance, reflecting that serious conversation with St. Vincent was often hampered by the viscount’s fondness for turning it into an exercise of wit. “If I understand you, my lord,� he said curtly, “your recommendation for a lack of desire is to start seducing unattractive women?�
Picking up a silver pen holder, St. Vincent deftly fitted a nib into the end and made a project of dipping it precisely into an ink bottle. “Rohan, I’m doing my best to understand your problem. However, a lack of desire is something I’ve never experienced. I’d have to be on my deathbed before I stopped wanting—no, never mind, I was on my deathbed in the not-too-distant past, and even then I had the devil’s own itch for my wife.�
“Congratulations,� Cam muttered, abandoning any hope of prying an earnest answer out of the man. “Let’s attend to the account books. There are more important matters to discuss than sexual habits.�
St. Vincent scratched out a figure and set the pen back on its stand. “No, I insist on discussing sexual habits. It’s so much more entertaining than work.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Mine Till Midnight

“Perhaps I’m off the mark,â€� Westcliff said, “but I suspect it may have something to do with Miss Hathaway.â€�
Cam sent him a damning glare.
St. Vincent looked alertly from Cam’s stony face to Westcliff’s. “You didn’t tell me there was a woman.�
Cam stood so quickly the chair nearly toppled backward. “She has nothing to do with it.�
“Who is she?� St. Vincent always hated being left out of gossip.
“One of Lord Ramsay’s sisters,� came Westcliff’s reply. “They reside at the estate next door.�
“Well, well,� St. Vincent said. “She must be quite something to provoke such a reaction in you, Rohan. Tell me about her. Is she fair? Dark? Well formed?�
To remain silent, or to deny the attraction, would have been to admit the full extent of his weakness. Cam lowered back into his chair and strove for an offhand tone. “Dark-haired. Pretty. And she has � quirks.�
“Quirks.� St. Vincent’s eyes glinted with enjoyment. “How charming. Go on.�
“She’s read obscure medieval philosophy. She’s afraid of bees. Her foot taps when she’s nervous.â€� And other, more personal things he couldn’t reveal â€� like the beautiful paleness of her throat and chest, the weight of her hair in his hands, the way strength and vulnerability were pleated inside her like two pieces of fabric folded together. Not to mention a body that had been designed for mortal sin.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Mine Till Midnight

“Gabriel's family owned a private gaming house, ostensibly a gentlemen's club, patronized by royalty, aristocracy, and men of influence. Before inheriting the dukedom, his father, Sebastian, had personally run and managed the club, turning it into one of London's most fashionable gaming establishments.”
― Lisa Kleypas, Devil in Spring

“What are we to do in this time? How do we function? How do we not completely lose it?

I choose to use my #pen
to cut open my shell
to release the pus
of pain and trauma
and loss
mixed with
sludge-like #ash.”
― Sandra Sealy, Chronicles Of A Seawoman: A Collection Of Poems