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

by Julia Quinn

Accidents. It was all about accidents. No scientist would admit to it, of course, but most great invention occurred while one was attempting to solve some other problem entirely.

it would be difficult to eat crow and say that she should have listened.

It was nearly impossible to keep anything a secret, especially from her sisters, the youngest of whom—Hyacinth—could probably have won the war against Napoleon in half the time if His Majesty had only thought to draft her into the espionage service.

And because she’d never actually met him, she’d been able to create him in her mind, using his letters as the bones and then fleshing him out as she saw fit.

If the moon had suddenly dropped from the sky and landed in her back garden, Eloise could not have been more surprised.

And Phillip did not, as one might imagine, even think the word drown lightly.

she was nervous, and while she prided herself on the fact that she was rarely nervous, now seemed like a rather deserving time to explore that emotion,

He’d never sent out the first draft of any of his missives (although he always wrote it on his best paper, each time hoping that this would be the time he’d get it right on the first try).

“Who did this to you?” Her voice was low and angry, and her outrage warmed his heart.

“Today,” he said softly, “the twins told me it was the best day ever. And I realized they were right.” Eloise nodded, beyond words. “But then,” he continued, “I realized they were wrong.” She looked up at him, question in her eyes. “I couldn’t choose a day,” he confessed. “Any day with you, Eloise. Any day with you.” He touched her chin, brought his lips to hers. “Any week,” he murmured, “any month, any hour.” He kissed her then, softly, but with all the love in his soul. “Any moment,” he whispered, “as long as I’m with you.”