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There seemed to be a good deal of buzz? At the hazard table about the Marquess of Westfield’s inebriated state. He blinked. Wait. I am the Marquess of Westfield.
Litty
And because he had a grin as wide as the cat who’d caught the kitchen mouse, she hissed, “You bastard.” How dare he look so . . . so . . . pleased with himself.
“Why are you blushing?” Tall, dark, threatening to most, terrifying to all, men quaked in his presence as she’d witnessed from the secret observatory at the top of the gaming hell floors and on the streets of London. Not her. To her, he’d always be the serious young boy who’d let her curl in his lap when the nightmares came. It was hard to fear him, even when he’d become one of the most notorious gaming hell owners in all of London. “Oh, I don’t know. Because I’m fair? Because I’m annoyed? It’s no doubt a combination of the two.”
she said "im white" lmao
“Your families are . . . quite close,” she settled for, recalling the easy familiarity between the Duke of Wilkinson and Robert in the midst of the Lord and Lady Drake’s ball. “Our families.” Helena looked blankly at her. “Well, it is just, you said ‘your’ families, and this is your family too, Helena. So ‘our’ families.” At that beautiful gesture, tears misted her vision. She blinked them back. Why could all these people not be the same nasty beasts as the Duchess of Wilkinson?
I hope Diana finds love with a rich husband
Relinquishing his death grip on the reins, he claimed her left hand. Slowly, he pulled off one of her gloves.
“I did not live in these dangerous streets and I’ve certainly not known the pain you have. But money and status does not make a person immune to emotion or life.”
He winked, and her heart tripped a beat. That fool woman who’d thrown away his love. And Helena must be in possession of the blackest soul, for in this selfish moment she was wholly glad there was no longer a Lucy.
“You shouldn’t be here.” Her tear-roughened voice faintly reached his ears. Attuned to this woman as he’d never been with another, Robert had spied Helena as she’d spun on her heel and fled the ballroom as though the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. In that moment, the Devil himself could not have compelled him to remain dancing with Lady Diana or any other. “I should be where you are,” he returned; placing his lips against her temple, he tucked another brown strand behind her ear.
He cradled her face between his hands, his eyes boring into hers. “Marry me knowing that there may be struggles and sadness, and that we, with each other’s love, will find strength and joy in one another.”
