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

by Julia Quinn

And oh, how she wanted him to feel the same way. He needed her. Of that she was quite sure. He needed her maybe even more than she needed him, but that wasn’t it. She loved being needed, being wanted, being indispensable, even, but there was more to her feelings. She loved the way he smiled, slightly lopsided, a little boyish, and with a little lilt of surprise, as if he couldn’t quite believe in his own happiness. She loved the way he looked at her, as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world, when she knew, quite patently, that she was not. She loved the way he actually listened to what she had to say, and the way he didn’t allow her to cow him. She even loved the way he told her she talked too much, because he almost always did it with a smile, and because, of course, it was true. And she loved the way he still listened to her, even after he told her she talked too much. She loved the way he loved his children. She loved his honor, his honesty, and his sly sense of humor. And she loved the way she fit into his life, and the way he fit into hers. It was comfortable. It was right. And this, she finally realized, was where she belonged.