To Sir Phillip, With Love (Bridgertons, #5)

by Julia Quinn

Twice now, she had made him laugh, and he was beginning to realize that this was a gift. An amazing, priceless gift, one that he was truly blessed to receive.

At night, he pounced upon her like a man possessed. A starving man, really. His energy seemed endless, and he was always trying new things, positioning her in new ways, teasing and tormenting until she was screaming and begging, never sure whether it was for him to stop or keep going.

HEHEHEHHEHEE

“Eloise,” he said calmly, “try to afford a small measure of respect for my intelligence.” “It is difficult,” she shot back, “when you display so little.”

“Every now and then,” he said, feeling quite superior, “you might consider shutting your mouth and using it for some other purpose.”

Oh hell fucking no. Not no but hell no.

And so she just sat there, her hands folded tightly in her lap, whispering, “Please. Please.” And then, as if the wrong prayer had been answered, she heard a noise in the doorway, and somehow it was Phillip,

LOL

“Until you’ve lived through all that,” he said, “don’t you ever complain about what we have. Because to me . . . to me . . .” He choked on the words, but he barely paused before he continued. “This—us—is heaven. And I can’t bear to hear you say otherwise.”

I low key hate him

“You’ve got to be happy,” he said, his words sounding as if they’d been ripped from his throat. “You have to be. Please say—”

. ???

“Let’s make a deal, you and I. You can think your mother is the most beautiful woman alive. But I get to think it’s you.”

Laugh. Laugh out loud, and laugh often. And when circumstances call for silence, turn your laugh into a smile.

—from Eloise, Lady Crane, to her daughter Penelope, upon the occasion of her birth