The Soldier's Scoundrel (The Turner Series, #1)

by Cat Sebastian

Mothers and governesses ought to spend more time instructing young ladies in the importance of destroying incriminating evidence and less time bothering with good posture and harp lessons and so forth.

“Sometimes I think fashion magazines are run by revolutionaries just to make the aristocracy look stupid.”

Honor was a luxury item, like hair pomade and snuff. Its only purpose was to show the world that you could afford to be impractical, that you had enough money to behave in a way that was compatible with some ludicrous code instead of acting out of self-preservation like the rest of humanity.

Oliver nearly whimpered. He felt shameless, like he had been waiting his entire life to have his body pressed ruthlessly into the mattress by a self-confessed reformed criminal in a Yorkshire inn. And maybe he had, because lying here, exposed and willing, he felt more himself than he had in months.

“Christ, Rivington. Fuck.” He dragged that last word out into several more syllables than it rightfully deserved. “If I’d have known it was to be like that, I’d have bent you over my desk the first time I saw you. How the hell am I supposed to get anything done, now that I know?” Oliver turned his face into the pillow to hide his smile.

Never had Jack tied a cravat more resentfully and with more confusion than he did that day.

“You stubborn, ignorant bastard.” He was speaking through gritted teeth. “I love you. I don’t want you to die for me. I don’t want you to be hurt at all. I want you to be safe, with me. Why is that so hard to understand?

“I’ve tried being without you, and it’s not any good, Oliver.” “It really isn’t,” Oliver agreed. “Let’s not do that again.”