The Madness of Lord Ian Mackenzie

This is one of the best books I've read.
This is one of the best historicals I've read.
This book has one of the best heroes I've ever read.
This book has one of the best heroines I've read.
This book has a fantastic story.
This book has made me love two women.
This book made me love four men.
This book made me want to read five books at the same time.


This book is in my heart and it will never go out.

“Your being with me makes it stop. It’s like the Ming bowls—when I touch them and feel them, everything stops. Nothing matters. You are the same. That is why I brought you here, to keep you with me, where you can please make ... everything
... stop.”

“I am incapable of love. I will not offer it to you.”
Beth wondered what was more heartbreaking, the words themselves or the flat tone of voice with which he delivered them.

“You make no sense, my lord. If you don’t care about my fortune or whether I love you, why on earth do you wish to marry me?”
Ian reached for the curl again as though he couldn’t stop himself. “Because I want to bed you.”

He’d marry her for a very basic reason: to have her with him every night, every day, every afternoon, and every time in between. He walked down the boulevard, something in him awakening and breaking free.

Beth’s fragile trust was in Ian’s hands. He’d growled that he didn’t want to be protected, but the instinct to protect her was strong. Beth was so alone in the world, so vulnerable, and she didn’t even realize it.

“What was it like?” His words were so low she barely caught them. “Explain to me what loving feels like, Beth. I want to understand.”

"Ian’s life was dictated by other people—events and conversations swirled past him before he could follow them; other people decided whether he’d live in an asylum or out of it, whether he’d go to Rome or wait in London. Events flowed and ebbed, and as long as they didn’t interfere with his interests, like finding elusive Ming pottery, he let them happen.
Now Beth had landed in the swift stream of his life, and she’d stuck there like a rock.
Everything else swirled past him, but like an anchor, Beth stayed."

"I do not think of him as Lord Ian Mackenzie, aristocratic brother of a duke and well beyond my reach; not as the Mad Mackenzie, an eccentric people stare at and whisper about.
To me, he is simply Ian."

"Ian cannot do something so simple as hold a woman’s hand. He moves his thumb up my wrist and under my glove, finding points that shoot wild heat through my body. He caresses the inside of my palm with soft fingers, and then he threads his fingers through mine and holds hard, as though teaching me that my hand belongs there with his."

Beth fixed him with an icy stare. “Rest assured, I am not prone to swooning. I might have the footmen throw you out, yes, but swoon, no.”

“All of us are mad in some way,” Ian said. “I have a memory that won’t let go of details.
Hart is obsessed with politics and money. Cameron is a genius with horses, and Mac paints like a god. ...
We all have our madness.
Mine is just the most obvious.”

"Are you wet?”

"Ian cannot do something so simple as hold a woman’s hand. He moves his thumb up my wrist and under my glove, finding points that shoot wild heat through my body. He caresses the inside of my palm with soft fingers, and then he threads his fingers through mine and holds hard, as though teaching me that my hand belongs there with his."

"Ian cannot do something so simple as hold a woman’s hand. He moves his thumb up my wrist and under my glove, finding points that shoot wild heat through my body. He caresses the inside of my palm with soft fingers, and then he threads his fingers through mine and holds hard, as though teaching me that my hand belongs there with his."

“It is the most divine thing imaginable,” she tried.
“I don’t want to hear about divinity. I want to hear about flesh and bone. Is love like desire?”
“Desire is part of it,” she said slowly. “The love for another’s body. But also love for their heart and their mind, and for all the silly things they do, no matter how absurd. Your world brightens when they walk into a room, dims when they leave it again. You want to be with the beloved so you can see him and touch him and hear his voice, but you want his happiness as well. It’s selfish, but not entirely so.”

“Right there in the damn box, with the opera blaring on. I’d take you, make you my own.” He put his hand on her neck over the spot where he’d given her the love bite. “I branded you.”
Beth smiled. “You, too.” She touched his neck. “I branded you.”
He laced his fingers hard through hers and pressed her hand to the bed. “Belong to me.”
“No one here to dispute that at the moment.”
“Always mine. Always, Beth.” Thrusts punctuated the words. Always."

"He pulled her close. “Your being with me makes it stop. It’s like the Ming bowls—when I touch them and feel them, everything stops. Nothing matters. You are the same. That is why I brought you here, to keep you with me, where you can please make... everything... stop.”

“Because when I look at you, I forget everything. I lose all track of what I’m saying or doing. I can see only your eyes.” He laid his head on her pillow and rested his hand on her chest. “You have such beautiful eyes.”

“Is this what love feels like?” he whispered to her. “I don’t like it, my Beth. It hurts too much.”

"Ian, you are so bad for me," she said. He gave her a half smile. "I'm the mad Mackenzie."

"I wouldn't expect love from you. I can't love you back."

"Ian, you are so bad for me," she said. He gave her a half smile. "I'm the mad Mackenzie."

"I wouldn't expect love from you. I can't love you back."

He stared into her eyes ... so blue, so beautiful, like the skies in the middle of summer.

"Is this what love feels like?" he whispered to her.
"I don't like it, my Beth. It hurts too much."