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As though her family were not watching, he touched the side of her face, stroking the cheek her mother had hit. “I understand that you have been taught for far too long that you are unworthy.”
sugarplumiest of the plums,
little creampuff.
my dove?
my ravishing one,
She filed the image away as an excellent and insulting question to ask the earl at an utterly inappropriate future moment.
my dearest girl.”
my diminutive gherkin?”
my fluffy cockatoo,”
my captivating crumpet,
my daffodil,
my treasure,
my rosebud.
Best we get you down there right quick, I’m thinking.” “There you go with the thinking thing. What have I told you?” Tunstell only grinned wider.
“my buttercup,
dewdrop,”
little tulip,
my lightning bug.
my dear bluebell,
petunia petal.
my darling.
marigold—”
my dear.
my sweet.
“My dear child,
Lord Maccon had never before seen her cry. It did the most remarkable thing to his own emotions. He became irrationally angry that anything might make his stalwart Alexia sad. He wanted to kill someone, and this time it was not at all tied into being a werewolf. It couldn’t be, as, held tightly in her arms, he was as human as possible.
my darling tulip.”
The earl started to move forward and then stopped abruptly and looked down at her, not moving at all. “Am I?” “Are you what?” She peeked up at him through her tangled hair, pretending confusion. There was no possible way she was going to make this easy for him. “Your love?” “Well, you are a werewolf, Scottish, naked, and covered in blood, and I am still holding your hand.”
my pearl,
my little marshmallow,
she figured that when one has seen one’s affianced naked and covered in blood, one is no longer quite pure enough for white.
